Cascabel

An “Emily Litella” Moment in Herpetological Classification

“Emily Litella” was one of the many comedic personae created by the late, great comedienne Gilda Radner, an original cast member of the television show Saturday Night Live back in 1975.  As played by Radner, “Miss Litella” was an elderly woman with a hearing impairment that frequently caused her to misinterpret—and become outraged by—some of the news stories of the day in the show’s news parody segment, “Weekend Update.” As was the practice then, local television stations allowed citizens with views opposing those expressed in news stories to appear on the air with a brief editorial reply.  The “Miss Litella” character was a regular on the newscast parody, mistaking stories about the oppression of “Soviet Jewry” in the USSR with “Soviet jewelry,”  “sex and violence on TV” with “sax and violins on TV,” and “endangered species” with “endangered feces,” and so on.  After “Miss Litella” was allowed to rant for several moments, the anchor character, usually played by Chevy Chase or Jane Curtain, would politely interrupt her, explaining what the actual topic was that she was confused about.  At that point, “Miss Litella” became meek, stating softly, “Oh, that’s different,” then turning to the camera with an innocent smile, stating “Never mind!”

Taxonomy is regrettably tasked with two different functions that are often in conflict with each other.  The first function is simply to pigeonhole each and every organism with a unique label that serves as its identity and with which we may reference it.  This function is arguably the most important to the largest number of people.  As with most references, in order to be useful it must be somewhat conservative, adopting changes only when absolutely necessary, avoiding capricious and whimsical alterations that tend to render its reference function confusing or unreliable. 

The second and more difficult purpose of taxonomy is that it should reflect the phylogeny of the organisms it classifies.  At its most functional level, this typically boils down to ensuring that all species included within a genus are actually related to each other (homophyly); a genus containing species that are not all actually derived from a common ancestor is said to be “paraphyletic.”  Obviously, this is of most concern to specialists who comprise only a tiny fraction of the persons who use taxonomy.  Most people would not be bothered if a copperhead snake was named “Crotalus contortrix,” placing it in the genus containing rattlesnakes; its moniker would still be unique, distinguishing it from other snakes.  A specialist, however, would be apoplectic as such a combination would make the genus containing most of the rattlesnakes (Crotalus) paraphyletic, containing a species that is not descended from an ancestor shared with other rattlesnakes.  Since, even though copperheads are distantly related to rattlesnakes, the very closest relatives of copperheads are contained within another genus (Agkistrodon), that genus would be the appropriate place for them. 

Some of you may remember the wave of consternation that swept through the herpetological hobbyist community several years ago with the publication of a paper (Burbrink and Lawson 2007) contending that the North American Ratsnakes (genus Pantherophis) were so closely related to the Pine and Bull Snakes (genus Pituophis) that, to avoid paraphyly, they should all be included in a single genus. This conclusion was so counter-intuitive to those of us who cut our teeth on morphologically-based taxonomy that it caused us to shake our heads in disbelief, given the phenotypical differences between these two genera.  Nevertheless, many among the “genes never lie” contingent immediately accepted this proposal as another example of phylogenetics trumping morphology despite the “obvious” incongruities involved. After all, science has a substantial history of disproving intuition. However, the “genes never lie” aphorism should perhaps be slightly modified to include the phrase “when correctly interpreted.”

It should be pointed out that the justification offered for this proposed realignment was due to two factors:

1) the sequencing of four mitochondrial genes and one nuclear gene for many—but not all—taxa considered to belong to Old World and New World “Ratsnakes,” and

2) the resulting production and cladistic interpretation of computer-generated tree diagrams (cladograms) reflecting this incomplete genetic data. 

There was no new anatomical or other traditional evidence advanced to support the proposal that two groups so “obviously” distinct as Pantherophis and Pituophis should, in fact, be included in a single genus; a mere computer-generated cladogram showing Pituophis melanoleucus (the only species of the genus included in the trial) as a “sister species” to Pantherophis vulpinus was taken as sufficient to upset the taxonomic applecart [Figure 1].  This is especially remarkable when one considers that the statistical support for the particular node (presumed speciation event) leading to this proposal was not at all strong. 

Figure 1. Relevant portion of cladogram presented by Burbrink and Lawson (2007) purporting to show Pantherophis vulpinus and Pituophis melanoleucus as sister species (closest relatives). The numerical value at each node indicates the Bayesian posterior probability (PP) for each node as determined by a computer program, serving as an estimate of the statistical confidence at each node. (Click on image to enlarge)

Under cladistic interpretation of such data, since Pituophis melanoleucus (Eastern Pine Snake) and Pantherophis vulpinus (Eastern Fox Snake) had resolved out as each other’s closest relatives and as having both apparently descended from the same hypothetical immediate ancestor, to continue to include them in two separate genera would violate the rules of cladistic analysis (i.e., render Pantherophis “paraphyletic”).  Cladistic classification strongly discourages the recognition of paraphyletic genera and, consequently, all the species in the Pantherophis “clade” (i.e., branch), at least as diagramed by the authors, would have to assume the same generic name.

Burbrink and Lawson's problem, then, seems to have arisen from having tissue samples from only a single species of the entire genus Pituophis (P. melanoleucus), leading them to their outwardly erroneous conclusion that Pituophis melanoleucus and Pantherophis vulpinus were each other's closest living relatives and, therefore, according to cladist convention, should reside within the same genus.  The weakness in Burbrink and Lawson's study apparently derives from this failure to sample all—or at least a majority—of the species within the genus Pituophis. 

In retrospect, it should have been apparent to the researchers that if one is using a computer program that displays inferred relationships among species as paired branches on a cladogram, and if only one species of a polytypic genus is being tested, then the sister species on the two-branched clade would have to be a representative from another genus, thus falsely implying that the species from another genus is the closest relative only because the truly closest-related species were not being tested.  The computer program functioned as it was designed, rendering an incorrect result only because it was provided with inadequate data.  The program’s considering P. vulpinus to be the closest relative of P. melanoleucus was correct, given the limited data it had to work with. 

A similar lack of thoroughness possibly accounts for a disparity in a different study by Utiger et al. (2005) resulting in their earlier but similar conclusion (again solely for cladistic reasons) to lump the colubrid genus Masticophis into Coluber: only three species (total) from these two polytypic genera were included in the study (although in fairness it should be pointed out that earlier authors using differing methods have suggested the same arrangement [e.g., Auffenberg 1955; Dowling et al. 1983]).  In both of the present cases, however, the authors were performing studies of exceptionally broad scope involving many genera from widely dispersed areas, so in a sense under-representative sampling of larger genera may have been difficult to avoid.  Nevertheless, the possibility of distorting experimental results by allowing an entire polytypic genus to be represented by a single species should not be discounted. 

At this point, we encounter another arbitrary but arguably more necessary rule, that of taxonomic priority:  the older genus name must be used.  Pituophis was coined by Holbrook in 1842, predating Fitzinger's (1843) Pantherophis by a year.  Thus, Burbrink and Lawson (op. cit) nonchalantly suggested that all species of Pantherophis be lumped into Pituophis as the most convenient method of satisfying both cladistic doctrine and established rules of priority (regardless of the obvious anatomical differences between them).

Enter Messrs. Collins and Taggart (2008, Figure 2), for whom it appeared more generic names were preferable to fewer.  By coining a new genus (Mintonius) for the Fox Snakes, coupled with the resurrection of Scotophis Baird and Girard for the obsoletus complex within Pantherophis, Collins and Taggart cleverly managed to placate most of the cladistic objections to the phylogenies produced by Burbrink and Lawson (op. cit).  The description and diagnosis of Mintonius was ostensibly accomplished via a data matrix comprised of an eclectic set of characters, which Collins and Taggart assured us would serve to differentiate their new genus from other members of the problematic Pantherophis-Scotophis-Pituophis clade as diagrammed by Burbrink and Lawson (op. cit.).

Figure 2. Collins and Taggart’s (2008) revised phylogeny for the ratsnakes and bull-pine snakes, using data from other authors to fill in those species missing from Burbrink and Lawson’s analysis.  The genus Scotophis was revived to accommodate the distinctive obsoletus group and the genus Mintonius is coined for the equally distinctive vulpinus group. (Click on image to enlarge)

It should be noted that cladistic analysis is not restricted to the investigation of only molecular data and, in fact, such data were unavailable when this analytical method became popular in zoological systematics.  Consequently, Collins and Taggart were on firm cladistic ground when they assembled their diverse character matrix to support their proposals.  Ideally, it would seem that reference to multiple sources and types of data would be preferable to only very limited molecular information, especially when it is painfully evident that many kinks remain to be worked out before phylogenetics alone should be trusted to be the singular authoritative source on questions of classification.

However, before the figurative ink was dry on the brainy Collins and Taggart workaround of the Burbrink and Lawson paper, the Burbrink lab was back with a fresh and more thorough study based on three nuclear genes, six mitochondrial genes, and perhaps most importantly, including representatives of all 31 traditionally recognized species of the tribe Lampropeltini (Pyron and Burbrink 2009, Figure 3).  The revised phylogeny resulting from this new study now clearly supported well-differentiated and distinctive clades for both Pituophis and Pantherophis, discounting the earlier assertion of Burbrink and Lawson (op. cit.) that the latter should be lumped into the genus Pituophis to avoid problems of apparent paraphyly.  The “Emily Litella” moment came when the authors furtively admitted the mistake in the previous paper: “With regard to the clade consisting of the rat and pine snakes and relatives, the taxonomic conclusions of Burbrink and Lawson (2007) and Collins and Taggart (2008) are shown to be inaccurate”—the taxonomic equivalent of Miss Litella's trademark, good-natured “Oh! That's different. . . . Never mind,” without actually addressing the cause of the error nor the cavalier willingness to upset taxonomic stability in perpetrating it.

Figure 3. The relevant portion of Pyron and Burbrink’s (2009) revised phylogeny, which sampled all of the members of the tribe Lampropeltini,  clearly implying distinctive clades for the bull-pine snakes, corn snakes, fox snakes, and the obsoletus group, supporting Collins and Taggart’s (2008) alternative phylogeny.  Statistical support for this phylogeny is also much higher than for the previous Burbrink and Lawson (2007) study; the numbers above each node represent bootstrap values, those below are Bayesian posterior probabilities. (Click on image to enlarge)

The problem with this admission of error on the part of the Burbrink lab was that it also labeled Collins and Taggart’s logical solution to the quandary as being equally as mistaken as their own, which it clearly was not.  This slight did not fail to draw the notice of Collins:

“In summary, both the arrangement by Pyron and Bur­brink (2009) and that of Collins and Taggart (2008) are cor­rect and consistent with all available evidence . . . , but I feel that four distinct and easily recognized genera will always be a more infor­mative taxonomy than two genera, one of which contains a wide variety of morphologically dissimilar species.” (Collins 2010)

In short, the Collins and Taggart solution to this problem seems more intuitively satisfying than the Pyron and Burbrink one precisely because it does indeed recognize four genetically and morphologically distinct genera within the North American ratsnake complex, each of which is composed of species that are more closely related to each other than to other members of the larger complex.  Perhaps the best criticism of the Collins and Taggart proposal would be that it is the less parsimonious of the two, however in this case it would seem that the more informative view would trump the less informative one. 

Literature Cited

Auffenberg, W. 1955.  “A reconsideration of the racer, Coluber constrictor, in the eastern United States.”  Tul. Stud. Zool. 2(6): 87-155.

Burbrink, Frank T. and Robin Lawson. 2007. “How and when did Old World Rat Snakes disperse into the New World?”  Mol. Phylogenet. Evol. 43: 173-189.

Collins, Joseph T. 2010.  “An accurate accounting of an inaccurate statement about snake taxonomy.”  Jour. Kans. Herpetol. 36: 14-15.

Collins, Joseph T. and Travis W. Taggart. 2008. “An alternative classification of the New World rat snakes (genus Pantherophis [Reptilia: Squamata: Colubridae]).”  Jour. Kan. Herpetol.26: 16-18.

Dowling, H.G., Highton, R., Maha, G.C., and Maxson, L.R. 1983. “Biochemical evaluation of colubrid snake phylogeny.”  J. Zool. Lond. 201(3): 309-329. 

Fitzinger, Leopold. 1843. Systema reptilium. Fasciculus primus. Amblyglossae. Vindobonae. 106 + vi pp.

Holbrook, John E. 1842. North American herpetology. Second edition. Vol. 4. J. Dobson, Philadelphia. vi + 118 pp.

 Pyron, R. Alexander and Frank T. Burbrink. 2009. “Neogene diversification and taxonomic stability in the snake tribe Lampropeltini (Serpentes: Colubridae).” Mol. Phylogenet. Evol. 52: 524–529

Utiger U., B. Schätti & N. Helfenberger. 2005. “The oriental colubrine genus Coelognathus Fitzinger, 1843 and classification of Old and New World racers and rat snakes (Reptilia, Squamata, Colubridae, Colubrinae).” Russ. J. Herpetol. 12 (1): 39–60.

[This article originally appeared in the Winter 2022 issue of the SWCHR Bulletin]

Retrospective Book Review: Mountain Islands and Desert Seas – A Natural History of the U.S.-Mexican Borderlands

by Frederick R. Gehlbach

1981, Texas A&M University Press; College Station, Texas.
Softcover.  326 pp.  Publisher's List: $24.95, Amazon: $24.95, Kindle Ebook: currently unavailable
ISBN: 978-0890965665

Review by Tom Lott
([email protected])

This review refers to my well-worn first edition of this book, which is now out of print. However, a second, softcover edition (which I have not seen) is still available from the publisher and Amazon. The ISBN and prices above refer to the softcover edition.

The title of this classic work alludes, of course, to the ecological similarity between mountains surrounded by deserts and the more traditional islands surrounded by oceans. The flora and fauna of montane areas encircled by inhospitable deserts are isolated in a manner much like the life on literal islands bordered by water. This repeated theme, characteristic of the American southwest, is thoroughly examined in this book which, in my opinion, is one of the best and most readable treatments of southwestern ecology ever written.

Its author, the late Frederick R. Gehlbach (1935-2020), longtime biology professor at Baylor University, was what I like to call a “broad spectrum” naturalist. By that I mean that he did not limit himself to the study of one particular segment of natural history. His many published works were equally familiar to herpetologists, ornithologists, mammologists, ichthyologists, and general ecologists. Consequently, I hope I will be forgiven by our predominantly herpetological-oriented readership for this review of an older book in which herpetology does not constitute the only or even the major topic. I think most serious naturalists intuitively recognize that the creatures in which we are most interested exist in ecosystems where they are affected and molded in varying degrees by every other component of that environment, whether organic or inorganic. Even the venerable Kauffeld, whose works were about as narrowly herpetological as one can get, casually took note of the habitats in which his beloved snakes had to exist.

Gehlbach’s volume is somewhat prescient in the sense that even though it was written before the current concern about global warming and climate change, it documented the ecological alterations wrought upon the southwest subsequent to significant agricultural development within the 19^th century. Gehlbach uses the term “desertification” for the conversion of formerly luxuriant grasslands into desert due to range mismanagement. Unfortunately, “desertification” is a recurrent theme throughout the book.

The area covered by the book is generally within 100 miles of the US-Mexican border, extending from the mouth of the Rio Grande to the western edge of the Sonoran Desert, roughly paralleling the paths of the first (1849-1855) and second (1891-1896) US-Mexican Boundary Surveys. It is richly illustrated with lithographic artwork from volumes written to document those expeditions and supplemented with inserts of Gehlbach’s own color photographs.

The initial chapter, “Living Landscapes,” provides an overview of the geography of the borderlands in which the more detailed following chapters are set. In the subsequent chapters Gehlbach often compares his own observations with those of historical studies, such as comparing his own quantitative observations to those done much earlier to detect possible population trends. In doing so he frequently employs simple statistical tests to determine whether any deviation in his own totals is significantly different from the previous ones.

Because of this inclusion of mathematics, to which some people are constitutionally averse, I have heard a few complaints that one should have completed a course in biostatistics prior to reading this book. Having taken such a course myself, I can state that the tests Gehlbach employs are very basic ones that can be done easily with a hand-held calculator (or nowadays a phone). Without such analysis, it is difficult to determine whether two or more counts with varying results are really different or are within the limits of chance.

In other cases, however, the author relies on his qualitative impressions in comparison to earlier studies. For example, he uses his own observations over the years to agree with a previous study on the distribution of snakes along Cave Creek Canyon Road in southeastern Arizona’s Chiricahua Mountains (Pough 1966), that determined that the Mohave Rattlesnake (Crotalus scutulatus) had invaded areas formerly dominated by the Western Diamond-backed Rattlesnake (Crotalus atrox) due to the increased desertification of the preferred habitat of the latter over the past 100 years. He supplements this with a reference to a paper with similar conclusions about the invasion of the habitat of the White-tailed Deer (Odocoileus virginianus couesi) by the more desert-tolerant Mule Deer (O. hemionus) in the same range (Anthony and Smith 1977).

While there is no Literature Cited section at the end of the book to reference the numerous studies Gehlbach mentions in the text, this is more than adequately compensated for by providing complete citations in footnotes at the bottom of the page on which a work is indicated. Additionally, formulas and results of any statistical tests used are completely documented in footnotes. Plus, there is a thorough index.  

This volume contains many more such temporal faunal comparisons of a wide range of southwestern wildlife. As such, it would almost certainly enhance the knowledge base of anyone interested in the biology of that area. I have found myself consulting it frequently during the 40+ years since its initial publication. I understand that the recent softcover edition (1993) contains a new introduction by the author, which, unfortunately, I have not read. It would be interesting indeed to read Gehlbach’s thoughts on the more recent construction of the so-called border wall which restricts the movements of medium to larger animals across the border.

Literature Cited

Anthony, R. G. and N. S. Smith. 1977. “Ecological Relationships between Mule Deer and White-tailed Deer in Southeastern Arizona.” Ecol. Monogr. 47: 255-277.

Pough, H. 1966. “Ecological Relationships of Rattlesnakes in Southeastern Arizona with Notes on Other Species.” Copeia 1966: 676-683.

Book Review: The Mohave Rattlesnake – and how it became an urban legend.

By Mike Cardwell

2020, ECO Publishing: Rodeo, NM

Paperback, 140 pages, 111 Photos & Maps

Publisher's List: $14.95, Amazon: $14.95,

9 x 11 inches
ISBN: 9781938850301

 Ebook: Currently unavailable

Review by Tom Lott

The Mohave Rattlesnake (Crotalus scutulatus) is probably the rattlesnake about which the most sensationalistic misrepresentation has been spread. In this slender, profusely illustrated volume, Mike Cardwell has undertaken to set the record straight.

Initially, he explores how a snake with the bulk of its distribution centered elsewhere came to be named for and particularly associated with the Mohave Desert. He even embarks on a brief foray into the origin of the term “mohave” or “mojave” itself, which ultimately appears to derive from a loose translation of the name of an Indian tribe that occupied the area along the lower Colorado River in Arizona and California. Regardless of its origin, the spelling of the word did not seem to be controversial, with both spellings being used interchangeably by most herpetologists, until the late Charles Lowe insisted that the “Mohave” version was the correct one. (Lowe et al. 1986).

In the second chapter he analyzes the characteristics and distribution of the species, including claims for the maximum length, concluding that it is a medium-sized rattlesnake with a maximum length of about four feet in males, a foot less in females, with most specimens being considerably shorter. He also extensively covers and illustrates patterns and colorations, along with the most common variations of both. In the section on “scale counts and arrangements,” he slightly downplays the importance of the oft-stated “rule” that Mohaves possess only two scales between the supraoculars atop the head with photos of less common individuals with three or four such scales. The chapter concludes with a summary of the distribution of the species in each of the five US states in which it occurs, along with a brief description of its general range in Mexico.

The next chapter is appropriately devoted to distinguishing the Mohave from the very similar Western Diamondback, which frequently perplexes even experienced herpetologists. It also includes tips for recognizing Mohaves from four other types of rattlesnakes with which it might be confused by those less familiar with rattlers in general.

Chapter 4 deals with the phylogeny and taxonomic history of the species. In a very academic but thoroughly engaging manner, Cardwell describes the resolution of the problems created by the common failure of many 19^th century taxonomists to include the exact type locality and site of deposition of their type specimens in their original descriptions. This was the case with Robert Kennicott, who first described the Mohave in 1861. Consequently, the author was involved in a considerable amount of research undertaken to locate the actual type specimen of C. scutulatus, which had erroneously been attributed to a specimen of C. viridis in the U.S. National Museum by Edward D. Cope. In the process, Cardwell discovered that the great student of rattlesnakes, L. M. Klauber, had actually tracked down the type specimen in 1934, but had failed to note the discovery in any of his many subsequent publications. In an interesting postscript, Cardwell notes details about the actual collector of Kennicott’s type specimen, Dr. Bernard Irwin, an Army surgeon assigned to Fort Buchanan, near present-day Sonoita, Santa Cruz County, Arizona, just prior to the Civil War.

Cardwell next maps and dwells extensively on the well-known variation of venom composition within C. scutulatus, being predominately neurotoxic in some areas, but mainly hemotoxic or mixed in others. The neurotoxic component, the so-called “mohavetoxin” is responsible for the deadly reputation of the species, producing one of the lowest known (i.e., most toxic) LD₅₀ values for rattlesnakes. Despite this, Cardwell declares and justifies that, if he had to be bitten by a rattlesnake, he would prefer it to be by a mohavetoxin bearing example of C. scutulatus!

The frequent but far-fetched claims that Mohave Rattlesnakes are the result of hybridization with other species or that they hybridize with other rattlesnake species to produce particularly deadly progeny are thoroughly examined in Chapter 6. A recent genetic study of the C. scutulatus complex (Schield et al. 2018) is cited, which revealed that the species consists of four slightly differing genetic groups (clades). The two clades occurring in the American southwest mainly occupy the Sonoran and Chihuahuan deserts, respectively. These two groups were apparently separated during the Pliocene and Pleistocene epochs but have more recently recontacted along the Cochise Filter Zone adjacent to the borders of southeastern Arizona and southwestern New Mexico. It is in this area that the only demonstrated naturally occurring hybrids between C. scutulatus and another species, its closest relative, the Prairie Rattlesnake (Crotalus viridis) are known. And despite various assertions of hybrids existing between C. scutulatus and the phenotypically very similar C. atrox, especially in the Chihuahuan clade of west Texas, the author has researched and effectively dismisses such claims.

In Chapter 7 Cardwell considers the population status of the species relative to climate change and other factors, determining that most populations of Mohaves are healthy and stable, except where they are disturbed by human activity.

The Mohave’s population status is followed with a consideration of the general ecological aspects and requirements of C. scutulatus, including habitat, reproduction, diet, hydration, thermal tolerance, seasonal movement, and predation. Cardwell’s conclusions are based, in part, on his own long-term radiotelemetry studies of the species as well as other published research.

Chapter 9, “Mohave Rattlesnake Bite and its Effects,” details victims differing symptoms resulting from both the neurotoxic Type-A and the “tenderizing” hemotoxic Type-B bites

In the two subsequent chapters, “Mohave Green” mythology and various internet hoaxes are detailed. These consist of a considerable amount of hyperbolic misinformation disseminated in various media outlets concerning the so-called “Mohave Green” Rattlesnake. The author then debunks seven of the most prevalent myths about Mohaves. The role of the internet is specifically noted for stoking the veritable hysteria surrounding the species in some circles. Chapter 12 further recounts six other familiar myths applicable to rattlesnakes in general.  

The closing two chapters cover mostly common-sense behaviors, familiar to herpers, to avoid bites in the first place. This is followed by a review of discredited historical first aid treatments, concluding that the only real first aid for rattlesnake bite is to seek medical attention as rapidly as possible

The book closes with an extensive literature citation section and a brief glossary of some of the few technical terms used in the text.

Mike Cardwell is singularly qualified to author a book about the Mohave Rattlesnake (Crotalus scutulatus).  After a three-decade career in law enforcement, he turned his energies into herpetological studies, most specifically on this species. In this slim volume he has managed to write a book covering some fairly arcane topics without seeming patronizing to either the experienced herper nor the layman. He has published a number of scientific papers based on his own research on the Mohave Rattlesnake. Additionally, he has served as a co-editor of The Biology of Rattlesnakes symposium volume (Hayes et al. 2008), authored the C. scutulatus account in volume 1 of the encyclopedic Rattlesnakes of Arizona (Cardwell 2016), and co-authored the Mohave Rattlesnake account in the recent massive Snakes of Arizona (Mitchell et al. 2020) volume. He is currently an adjunct researcher at San Diego State University, studying the behavior of rattlesnakes in Arizona’s Sonoran Desert, where he resides.  

Literature Cited

Cardwell, M. D. 2016. Mohave Rattlesnake Crotalus scutulatus (Kennicott 1861). Pp. 563-605. In Schuett, G.W., M. J. Feldner, C. F. Smith, and R. S. Reiserer (Eds.). 2016. Rattlesnakes of Arizona, Vol. 1. ECO Publishing, Rodeo, New Mexico.

Hayes, W. K., K. R. Beaman, M. D. Cardwell, and S. P. Bush (Eds.). 2008. The Biology of Rattlesnakes. Loma Linda University Press, Loma Linda, California.

Lowe, C. H., C. R. Schwalbe, and T. B. Johnson. 1986. The Venomous Reptiles of Arizona. Arizona Game and Fish Department, Phoenix, Arizona.

Mitchell, J. C., M. D. Cardwell, and A. H. Price. 2020. Crotalus scutulatus Mohave Rattlesnake. Pp. 600-611. In Holycross, A. T. and J. C. Mitchell. 2020. Snakes of Arizona. ECO Publishing, Rodeo, New Mexico.

Schield, D. R., R. H. Adams, D. C. Card, A. B. Corbin, T. Jezkova, N. R. Hales, J. M. Meik, B. W. Perry, C. L. Spencer, L. L. Smith, G. C. Garcia, N. M. Bouzid, J. L. Strickland, C. L. Parkinson, M. Borja, G. Castaneda-Gaytan, R. W. Bryson Jr., O. A. Flores-Villela, S. P. Mackessy, and T. A. Castoe. 2018. “Cryptic genetic diversity, population structure, and gene flow in the Mojave rattlesnake (Crotalus scutulatus).” Molecular Phylogenetics and Evolution 127:669-681.

Book Review: The Kauffeld Letters

By Gary M. Williamson with Charles F. Smith
and Gordon W. Schuett

2021, ECO Publishing: Rodeo, New Mexico

Paperback, 292 pages, numerous photos and illustrations.

Publisher's List: $19.95, Amazon: $26.95,

9 x 6.5 x 0.75 inches
ISBN: 9781938850318

Ebook: Currently unavailable

Review by Tom Lott

It is remarkable to me that many in the younger generations of herpetological enthusiasts have never read, or even heard of Carl Kauffeld. For those of us labeled “baby boomers,” however, it is difficult to overstate the profound effect two of his books, Snakes and Snake Hunting (1957, hereinafter referred to as “The Book”) and Snakes: The Keeper and the Kept (1969) had on our appreciation and approach to herpetology and nature in general.

Although I had been more or less fascinated with reptiles for three or four years at the time, it wasn’t until 1959, two years after its publication, that I was first exposed to The Book. It was in the somewhat elderly and long-suffering Mrs. Bateman’s eighth grade English class that I made my first acquaintance with that influential tome.

Mrs. Bateman had acquired a new reel-to-reel tape recorder and she had come up with the notion that her students should experience their voices as others heard them. Understand that as common as recording devices are today, in 1959 they were an expensive novelty and that almost certainly none of us had ever heard our recorded voices before. So, Mrs. Bateman directed that each of the thirty or so of us would select a short passage from our textbook or other book that we might have available, proceed up to her desk and read our selections into the recorder’s microphone. After each student’s performance, Mrs. Bateman would rewind the tape and play it back for the amazed—or chagrined—student to hear.

About halfway through the project, a fellow student whom I did not know well, brought a personal book up to the desk to read from. To my surprise, the selection he read into the recorder was by someone who was enthusiastically describing his joy in searching for and catching a type of snake he had been seeking. After class, I approached this fellow pupil, whose name was Terry Allen, whom I had always perceived to be a smart but superficial jock type, and asked about the book he had read from. He showed me the book, the title of which was Snakes and Snake Hunting by someone named Carl Kauffeld, who oversaw the reptile house at a zoo in New York. Terry had borrowed the recently published book from the main library downtown, which apparently had a much larger selection available than the branch library I frequented. He also volunteered that snake hunting was a hobby of his and asked if I was interested in that also.

Thus, began a great friendship and collaboration that encompassed many snake hunting trips, most within bike or walking distance, and others more remote where we were dropped off by our parents to spend an entire weekend camping out and tramping through the Texas Hill Country. Inspired in part by Kauffeld’s adventures, Terry and I challenged each other to become more informed and better herpers and made plans to visit the areas touted by Kauffeld upon our high school graduation. Unfortunately, life intervened and that planned journey never happened.

The Kauffeld Letters’ first author, Gary Williamson, also became vicariously acquainted with Kauffeld upon reading The Book as a senior in high school in Virginia in 1962. Two years later he and a friend made their first trip to the Okeetee Hunting Club in the lowlands of South Carolina, inspired by Kauffeld’s captivating account of the herpetological wonders of that particular locale. Kauffeld devoted an entire chapter of The Book entitled “The Saga of Sandy Hill,” a portion of the Okeetee Club property, to his experiences there. Williamson’s first trip to the area, however, was largely unsuccessful due to cold and cloudy weather.

Undaunted, however, the duo decided to make the trip again the following year, but a bit later in the spring. This time, in April of 1965, they serendipitously encountered the crew from the Staten Island Zoo, including Kauffeld himself, who graciously invited them to join them in their pursuits. The hunt was considerably more successful this second time, largely due to the opportunity to interact and hunt with the Staten Island folks, especially Kauffeld.

Slightly later in 1965, prior to his induction into the U.S. Navy, Williamson decided to take a trip westward to visit relatives in Colorado and then venture southward to experience Kauffeld’s beloved Huachuca Mountains in southeastern Arizona, the source of another chapter, “Huachuca Heaven,” in The Book. While there, Williamson decided to send Kauffeld a letter and a postcard from the town of Sierra Vista, at the foot of the Huachucas, recounting his own adventures there and in Colorado. Kauffeld responded with a lengthy, personally typed letter, commenting on Williamson’s observations. Thus began a remarkable almost ten-year correspondence and friendship between the two men, which ended only with Kauffeld’s death in 1974 at the age of 63.

Kauffeld’s 1965 response was the first of the many messages exchanged between the two that comprise the bulk of the current book. Indeed, most of Williamson’s text consists of elaborations on comments made in the reproduced letters in the 70 or so short chapters. Some of Kauffeld’s missives are reproduced in his own clear longhand but are duplicated in print form for the cursively challenged. The remainder appear to be from his personal typewriter, with typos corrected by hand. Clearly, Kauffeld must have carried on a massive correspondence, especially following the publication of his 1957 book, mostly without the assistance of secretarial support.

Williamson also includes chapters covering his encounters with many of the “Staten Island crew,” whose names will be familiar to those who have read Kauffeld’s books. His personal friendship with Kauffeld, however, was not limited only to correspondence.  The two managed to arrange occasional excursions in the field together over the near-decade of their acquaintance although Kauffeld’s ventures afield became increasingly reduced due to his declining health toward the end. It is remarkable that Williamson managed to retain so many of these personal letters for 54 years. With the assistance of his co-authors, he also has illustrated the book with abundant snapshots of the people and places mentioned in the text and letters.

This book is not a hagiography of Kauffeld although Williamson clearly admired the man. Williamson acknowledges that Kauffeld’s health issues were primarily of his own making, particularly a fondness for tobacco and alcohol. Nevertheless, the pair’s exchanges in the final years before Kauffeld’s passing are especially poignant.

I never met nor corresponded with Carl Kauffeld although his books had a considerable impact on me. Cynics maintain that one should never aspire to personally meet his heroes, lest he be disillusioned by the discovery that they might have “feet of clay.” Both before and after his death, Kauffeld was criticized—unfairly in my opinion—by “purists” who maintained that he had unnecessarily revealed prime localities in his books that could be exploited by unscrupulous collectors, especially with regard to isolated populations of montane rattlesnakes. Almost all such localities, however, were readily available to anyone with access to the herpetological literature or a good set of maps. Howard Gloyd and Laurence Klauber, the prevailing rattlesnake experts prior to Kauffeld’s time, had revealed all of Kauffeld’s favored spots and more years before The Book and its sequel appeared.

Upon Kauffeld’s passing in the summer of 1974, his colleague, Roger Conant, penned a gracious obituary (except for repeating the specious charges concerning revealing localities), which appeared in the first issue of Herpetological Review the following year (Conant 1975). Yet some years later, in his massive autobiography (Conant 1997), in a chapter summarizing his perceptions of various herpetologists and other biologists he had come into contact with throughout his career, Conant repeated the charges of revealing sensitive localities and less charitably referred to Kauffeld’s “. . .  three great weaknesses that got him into trouble. He was a notorious womanizer, a heavy drinker, and almost a chain-smoker.” Conant’s opinion was possibly colored by the fact that his second wife, the great photographer Isabelle Hunt Conant, had previously been married to Kauffeld in a relationship that had apparently ended bitterly.

Carl F. Kauffeld succumbed to the effects of severe emphysema on July 10, 1974, at the age of 63. His ashes were scattered at the Mount Misery area in the New Jersey Pine Barrens, which had inspired another chapter, “Memories of Mount Misery,” in The Book, based on his younger adventures there. Regardless of his possible personal foibles, the man revealed in this touching series of letters appears to be a consummate naturalist, eager to interact with and mentor younger colleagues. His deep appreciation and respect for all of nature is unmistakably evident in his correspondence with Williamson, who ultimately pursued a career as a park naturalist.

Ultimately, this book may most appeal to those of us who were of a certain age and time, but it is difficult to overstate the degree of influence Kauffeld’s writings had upon many of our avocations and careers. The efforts of the author and his co-authors are much appreciated for providing us with this personal accounting of a pivotal era in the history of herpetology. As always, our appreciation is extended also to Bob and Sheri Ashley of ECO Publishing for continuing to provide us with a wealth of herpetological and natural history books that might otherwise languish in the dog-eat-dog world of commercial publishing.

Literature Cited

Conant, Roger. 1975. “Carl Frederick Kauffeld (obituary): April 17, 1911-July 10, 1974.” Herpetological Review 6: 27-28.

__________. 1997. A Field Guide to the Life and Times of Roger Conant. Canyonlands Publishing Group, L.C., Provo, Utah.

Kauffeld, Carl F. 1957. Snakes and Snake Hunting. Hanover House, Garden City, New York.

_________. 1969. Snakes: The Keeper and the Kept. Doubleday & Company, Inc., Garden City, New York.

 

[This review originally appeared in the Summer 2021 issue of the SWCHR Bulletin]

Book Review: Snakes of Arizona

By Andrew T. Holycross and Joseph C. Mitchell (eds.)

2020, ECO Publishing: Rodeo, New Mexico

Hardback, 837 pages, numerous color photos, maps, and other illustrations.
Publisher's List: $59.95, Amazon: $69.00,

9 x 2 x 11 inches, 7.8 pounds
ISBN: 9781938850608

Ebook: Currently unavailable.

Review by Tom Lott
([email protected])

This book has undeniably put the “magnum” back into the term magnum opus, figuratively and literally. At 7.8 pounds, it is only 0.7 pounds lighter than my unabridged dictionary, which is printed on much thinner paper and in a much smaller typeface. Due to its size and weight, it is most definitely NOT A FIELD GUIDE. Rather, it is a reference work, summarizing what is arguably the most current and thorough collection of information about the 59 species (two of which have been introduced) of snakes found within the boundaries of the state of Arizona. As such, it is destined to be ensconced inside a safe niche in your bookcase and to be consulted regularly.

Another symposium-styled work, this volume is the product of 63 contributors, each of whom having expertise with the particular species being discussed. The editors, Andrew Holycross and the late Joseph C. Mitchell, are the most prolific, contributing to 24 and 15 accounts respectively. This massive volume begins, appropriately, with a five-page dedication to the co-editor Joseph Mitchell, who tragically died in a traffic accident in July of 2019, before the book was completed. The introductory material continues with a foreword by Harry Greene, a brief preface and an introduction proper by editor Holycross, a statement on methods used in assembling the book, an illustrated review of the biotic communities found in Arizona, and a thorough section on conservation issues within the state. The introductory material concludes with an interesting discussion of proximally extra-limital species that may eventually be found within the state, survival chances of non-native snakes accidentally or intentionally released in the state, and future prospects for discovering currently peripheral species in Arizona and for species currently considered restricted to Arizona to turn up in surrounding states.

Of course, the species accounts comprise the bulk (74%) of the book. The account authors have been allowed an unusually generous amount of space to expound on their given topics, similar to that provided to the authors of the first volume of Rattlesnakes of Arizona, from the same publisher. Since I was curious about how the species accounts in these two books contrasted, I selected the Tiger Rattlesnake (Crotalus tigris) chapter in each for a more-or-less random comparison. In this new volume the C. tigris chapter, authored by Matt Goode and Mickey Ray Parker, runs for 14 pages, including nine color photos of varying sizes. In contrast, the C. tigris account in Volume 1 of Rattlesnakes of Arizona by the same two authors plus Martin Feldner and Roger Repp occupies 46 pages. However, the Rattlesnakes of Arizona account includes 19 color photos, eight of which occupy full pages, a large range map, and an extensive literature cited section, as well as being printed in larger type with much looser line spacing. So, as a result of this superficial comparison, I would say that the Snakes of Arizona generally devotes a similar amount of space to all 59 species as was given to the small subset in Rattlesnakes of Arizona, proportional, of course to the amount of information available on each species.  

The standardized format for each species account contains the following subheadings: taxonomy (including etymology), description, distribution and abundance, habitat, diet and foraging biology, predators and parasites, behavior, reproduction, remarks, and acknowledgments.   

Each species account begins with an extensive taxonomic review in narrative form, which is generally much more engaging than the traditional synonymy listing. Regardless of one’s position on the systematic names used, each taxonomic summary contains a thorough history of the taxon, beginning with its original description and continuing through recent paradigms that been offered, including the controversial ones. For example, the taxonomic discussion of the Milk Snake (Lampropeltis triangulum) complex occupies 2.5 pages. Uncharacteristically, I will not quibble over the taxonomic decisions the editors have chosen to apply in this book. To paraphrase a former Secretary of Defense, sometimes we must use the taxonomy we have rather than that we might wish to have.

Following each taxonomic summary is a highly detailed description of the species’ morphological characteristics and variations thereof, effectively eliminating the need for dichotomous identification keys. The description section also covers coloration and pattern, scutellation, and similar species. The remaining account subheadings (listed above) are self-explanatory but are much more extensive than one is accustomed to seeing in books covering the herpetology of individual states.

The color photos accompanying each species account are of uniformly excellent quality and vary in size from about one-third to one-eighth of a page and sufficiently illustrate common variations. The caption of each photo includes the locality the specimen was from and the photographer’s credit.

As I was perusing the species accounts, as detailed as they were, there seemed to be something missing. Then it dawned on me that there were no range maps! Of course, there were, but they were grouped together at the rear of the volume, between the species accounts and the various end materials. When finally located, however, they were, as one would expect, works of art. Similar to those used in the Rattlesnakes of Arizona, the base maps in the present volume incorporate more detailed color depictions of 16 biotic communities within the state overlain onto a representation of topographical features and county boundaries. Also, unlike the shaded outline maps in the Rattlesnakes of Arizona, these maps represent species’ distributions by means of individual locality dots, with different colors being used where a map includes more than one species. About 27,000 museum vouchers (specimens and photos) were incorporated into the making of these maps. I initially felt that the maps would be better placed within the species accounts, but given their large size, many occupying a full-page, doing so would have required reducing their size and losing much information in the process. A six-page detailed explanation of how the maps were produced precedes the map section.

The map section is followed by three appendices listing: I. the names, affiliations, and email addresses of the contributing authors, II. three pages of symbolic institutional codes for those collections that were consulted for information and loans related to Arizona specimens, and III. a page-and-a-half of abbreviations used in the book. Further end materials include a six-page glossary, a sixty-nine-page literature cited section, and a twenty-four-page index.

With an impressively low-price tag for such a large and well-constructed volume, made possible in part by financial support from the Wallace Research Foundation and the Arizona Game and Fish Department, along with other logistical support from organizations and individuals listed in the Acknowledgments section, the Snakes of Arizona has significantly raised the bar for future state herpetology compilations. It is difficult to avoid waxing into superlatives regarding how well this work has matched my personal ideal mental model for such efforts, but any such superlatives are well-deserved. Kudos and thanks to ECO Publishing for continuing to issue such high quality and scholarly herpetological books. Commendation and thanks also to Drs. Holycross and Mitchell along with all the other contributors whose years of work made this classic volume possible.  

Literature Cited

Schuett, G. M., M. J. Feldner, C. F. Smith, and R. S. Reiserer  (eds.). 2016. Rattlesnakes of Arizona, Volume 1. ECO Publishing, Rodeo, NM. 736 pp.

[This review originally appeared in the Spring 2021 issue of the SWCHR Bulletin]

A Sandhills Elegy: Snakebite Treatment in the 1880s

By Tom Lott
([email protected])

Anyone who has read Harry Greene’s autobiographical natural history work, Tracks and Shadows:  Field Biology as Art (Greene 2013) will recognize this poignant grave marker. It is in the meticulously maintained Old Rock Baptist Church graveyard, in extreme northern Atascosa County, Texas, about 2.7 miles southwest of the Bexar County community of Somerset. It commemorates the passing of one John D. Sweeten in late July of 1880, who was just short of his eighteenth birthday.

Unusually informative, the headstone reads as follows:

John D. Sweeten
Born
in Denton Co.
Nov 14, 1862 Was
Bitten by a snake
July 16 in Atascosa Co.
DIED
in Sanantonio July
24, 1880

Greene estimates that it likely took two days to transport Sweeten, probably by wagon, from Atascosa County to San Antonio in hopes for more advanced care than was available locally. In the 1880 census, San Antonio was the second-largest city in Texas with slightly less than 21,000 souls, exceeded only by the seaport of Galveston with about 23,000 inhabitants. Nevertheless, the quality of medical care available there was highly uncertain. Indeed, the state of medical practice throughout the United States at the time was generally appalling by modern standards.

In his book, The Great Influenza, about the pandemic of 1918, John M. Barry devotes a great amount of space to detailing how woefully unprepared American medicine was in the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries to deal with serious medical problems such as infectious diseases and snakebites. As described by Barry, the medical “schools” that existed at the time were almost completely unregulated and seldom operated within the auspices of a university (he notes that in the late 1800s while American universities had nearly two-hundred endowed chairs of theology, there were fewer than five such positions in medicine). (Barry 2004).

Even when associated with reputable universities, medical schools were scarcely recognized as academically valuable, seldom providing adequate laboratory space and equipment, with the salary of medical faculty largely dependent upon the tuition paid by their students. Additionally, such was the disconnect between medicine and science that a prominent university president opined that, “after much study and experience, he had concluded that only ministers of the Gospel should be college professors.” (Barry op. cit.).

Even the duration of a 19th-century course of American medical training was also highly variable, with some of the more trade school-like enterprises granting degrees after less than a year’s study.  Many prospective medical students were admitted to programs despite lacking any preparatory work in general biology, anatomy, or chemistry. Licensing by the various states allowing such graduates to practice was also similarly unpredictable if required at all.

While the New World was seemingly content to stagnate in a medical backwater, however, institutions in much of Europe had developed a more progressive and scientific approach to medical education and practice. Medical schools, particularly in Germany and Austria, had begun establishing rigorous prerequisites for instruction in biology and chemistry as conditions of admission. Consequently, many serious American medical students began to seek out training in Europe. Conversely, European immigrants who had trained in the more progressive medical schools there, found the field wide open in the US.
 

Texas, especially, had benefitted from increased immigration from Germany during the 19^th century due to political unrest in their Teutonic homeland. This included many so-called “freethinkers,” whose numbers were skewed towards intellectuals, some of whom had been educated in medicine and science. As a result, in 1880 San Antonio had at least two practicing German-trained physicians, Ferdinand Herff and Rudolph Menger, who were reputed to be proficient in the treatment of snakebite. Whether either of these men treated young Sweeten is unknown but seems likely, given that his condition was undoubtedly grave by the time he arrived in San Antonio. However, if he were treated by either Herff or Menger, that would have represented the best possible attention available at that time and place.

Although in his writings Menger defers to the elder Herff as the more experienced “snake doctor,” it is through Menger’s penchant for writing popular magazine articles detailing his sporting and natural history interests in south Texas that we have any easily accessible records of accepted protocols for the treatment of snakebite at that time and place. Menger penned an article specifically on the treatment of snakebite in the late 1800s, which was later included as a chapter in his book, Texas Nature Observations and Reminiscenses, published in 1913. (Again, we do not know whether Menger actually treated Sweeten or not, but if he did, that was the best outcome to be expected.)

Dr. Rudolph Menger (Menger 1913, public domain)

 

In the chapter of his book entitled “Texas Snakes and the Treatment of Snake Bite,” Dr. Menger, as expected, specifies ligation (tourniquet application), incision, and suction as a first-aid treatment. He, however, directs that the ligature be “tightly” applied close to and above the fang wound, followed by an incision with a “clean knife” at the fang mark. This apparently single incision was then allowed to bleed and/or be sucked out well, if possible. He then suggested immersing the affected area in a “very warm” saltwater solution, or better, a “very warm” solution of potassium permanganate (KMnO₄, which Menger suggests “any druggist will serve.”), while seeking the attention of a physician.
 

While the “tight” ligature recommendation was decades later revised by subsequent workers to a looser variety, both the saltwater and potassium permanganate solutions likely served at least an anti-bacterial function. The KMnO₄, which is also a strong oxidizing agent, was known at the time to neutralize snake venom in vitro, thus it might possibly have been considered to convey that additional benefit as well, although Menger does not contend such in his article.

Presumably, once Dr. Menger or another doctor with similar skills became involved as the attending physician in a snakebite case, the first aid procedures were continued. The physician’s clinical approach doubtless then became more theoretical and heavily influenced by the prevailing beliefs of the day. Prior to 1886, it was widely thought that snake venoms were merely a single, homogeneous substance. However, such venoms are now known to be variable mixtures of many different protein components (largely enzymes), the exact composition of which can differ from place to place and even between individual snakes of the same species. This variability allows snakes in different regions to develop venoms that function best for their specific ecological situation.

Dr. Menger states that snake venom is injected into the body in two different ways: either superficially or deeply into the “cellular tissues” where it is slowly absorbed and can be hindered by the “proper subcutaneous medication of coagulating remedies” (without naming such remedies); these cases, he notes, “nearly always promptly recover” with only some tissue damage. However, “More serious and often fatal cases” involved the venom being injected directly into a blood vessel with correspondingly rapid circulation throughout the body.
 

Dr. Menger was also under the impression that the venom attacked the respiratory system first and the heart secondarily with the effect of paralyzing those systems. Consequently, these paralytic effects called for the administration of cardiac stimulants, the “champion” of which was the time-honored remedy of whiskey! He however notes that other “competent observers” considered whiskey to be inferior to another treatment advocated by a certain Dr. Mueller, a contemporary Australian physician. Dr. Mueller’s treatment consisted of the injection of up to a quarter-grain (0.016 grams) of “strychnia” (strychnine) as a more powerful cardiac and neural stimulant (Dr. Mueller himself advocated the intravenous injection of up to a full grain in serious cases [Mueller 1888-1889]).
 

Although the strychnine therapy fad seems to have appeared somewhat after young Sweeten’s fatal experience, and therefore probably was not used in his case, it is worth noting that even Leonard Stejneger, of the Smithsonian Institution and one of the more prominent herpetologists of that time, also advocated its use in the treatment of snakebite in his seminal and widely read work on venomous snakes of North America (Stejneger 1895). Although Dr. Stejneger held a Ph.D. rather than a medical degree, the opinions of herpetologists, then as even now, were frequently considered more informed than those of physicians who were rarely called upon to treat snakebite.

Dr. Menger then mentions a “new” stimulant, “a chemical agent called ‘Adrenalin’” that he considered possibly even more promising than strychnine. He apparently published an account of one of his first adrenalin (epinephrine) treatments in “Dr. McDaniel’s Texas Medical Journal,” suggesting injecting the “new” stimulant subcutaneously, “close to the fang wound,” which would serve to contract the local blood vessels, thus retarding the absorption of the venom. This would appear, however, to be of little value in the more serious cases involving envenomation directly into a blood vessel. Menger also notes that the treatment could be improved upon with the use of cocaine hydrochlorate as a local anesthetic.

These two “new” treatments for snakebite mentioned by Dr. Menger probably first appeared sometime after Sweeten’s case, so even if Menger or someone with similar skills attended him, Sweeten’s treatment likely did not include either of them. It seems probable that his treatment went little beyond the aforementioned first aid procedures (ligation, incision, and bleeding/suction) other than the possible administration of considerable quantities of alcoholic beverages as a cardiac stimulant. This is not to denigrate the efforts of whomever the physician attending Sweeten was, but merely to document how primitive even the best available protocols were at the time. The fact that life expectancy in 1880 for adult white males was only 39-45 years (Hacker 2010), and likely even lower for those located in sparsely populated areas, is a testament to the medical progress made during the subsequent 140 years.

Dr.  Menger’s article leaves one with the impression that in his experience most snakebites seen by him (doubtless from the formidable and abundant Western Diamond-backed Rattlesnake [Crotalus atrox]) did not result in fatalities. Nevertheless, fatalities did occasionally occur, and we know that young Sweeten lingered on for at least a week after the bite, regardless of the treatment he received. Consequently, Dr. Menger’s assertion that most fatalities resulted from envenomation directly into a blood vessel did not appear to be borne out in this case, as we would expect an intravenous envenomation to have been much more rapidly fatal.
 

From his article, it is unclear whether Menger was aware of the early efforts toward the development of snakebite antivenoms, especially by Albert Calmette in France and Indochina and Vidal Brazil in Brazil. He does, however, muse about how beneficial an injectable antidote to envenomation would be. Nevertheless, prior to the incorporation of scientific principles into its practice, medicine was literally more of an art than a science. Tradition and trial and error prevailed; if a patient recovered from a serious illness, whatever treatment regimen that had been used was given credit, regardless of whether it had any actual role in the recovery.

As a more personal example of how slowly the treatment of snakebite progressed until the advent of antivenom in the mid-twentieth century, I will recount the story of a bite suffered by my mother. As a ten-year-old girl in the early fall of 1921, some forty years subsequent to young Sweeten’s tragic experience, she was carrying her younger sister piggy-back around their bare earth ranch house yard in Frio County, Texas. She stepped on a neonate Western Diamondback rattler so small that she described it as being able to completely coil atop a silver dollar. Her parents were unwilling to apply the drastic traditional first-aid remedy of incision and suction on such a young child and, considering there was a country doctor a reasonable distance away by ranch truck, they determined to seek medical treatment. Her entire leg was swollen and discolored by the time they reached the doctor’s house/office within a couple of hours of the bite. Remarkably, the doctor’s treatment consisted entirely of soaking her leg in coal oil! Fortunately, despite such worthless therapy, the bite turned out to be a relatively minor one and she recovered completely within a couple of weeks. As Dr. Menger noted many years before, most bites were not fatal, but regardless of the treatment used by the attending physician, he and whatever therapy he used were given credit for saving a life.

****

Headstones of that period were typically hand-carved from limestone slabs. A soft stone, limestone weathers and begins to decompose quickly, leaving many of the markers in this graveyard that are contemporary with Sweeten’s illegible. Raised features, such as Sweeten’s name at the top of this stone, have begun to crumble into white powder when touched. The carved detail is more enduring.

Literature Cited

Barry, John M. 2004. The Great Influenza: The Epic Story of the Deadliest Plague in History. New York: Penguin Books.

Greene, Harry W. 2013. Tracks and Shadows: Field Biology as Art. Berkeley: Univ. California Press. 296 Pp.

Hacker, J. D. 2010. “Decennial Life Tables for the White Population of the United States, 1790-1900.” National Institute of Health Public Access. Hist. Methods 43(2): 45-79.

Menger, Rudolph. 1913. Texas Nature Observations and Reminiscenses; San Antonio: Guessaz &Ferlet Company

Mueller, A. 1888-1889. “On the Pathology and Cure of Snake Bite”. Australasian Medical Gazette. Published serially.

Stejneger, Leonard. 1895. The poisonous snakes of North America. Ann. Rept. U.S. Natl. Mus. 1895:337-487.

 

[This article first appeared in the Winter 2020 edition of the SWCHR Bulletin.]

 

 

Book Review: Texas Snakes: A Field Guide (Revised Edition)

By James R. Dixon, John E. Werler, and Michael R. J. Forstner
Line drawings by Regina Levoy

2020, University of Texas Press: Austin

Softcover, 464 pages, extensive color photos.

Publisher's List: $24.95, Amazon: $24.95,

5.1 x 1.2 x 7.9 inches, 1.6 pounds
ISBN: 978-1477320419

Kindle Ebook: $23.70 (ASIN: B0813Y32MD)

Review by Tom Lott
([email protected])

Undertaking an update or revision of an established reference work by esteemed original authors who are no longer with us must be a daunting task. Two recent such revisions of the eastern/central and western editions of the formerly acclaimed Peterson field guides to amphibians and reptiles of the United States have not fared particularly well (Powell, Conant, and Collins 2016; Stebbins and McGinnis 2018). Michael Forstner, a Biology Professor at Texas State University, has seen fit to take up the gauntlet for revising one of the better state-specific field guides out there: Dixon and Werler’s 2005 Texas Snakes: A Field Guide.  

At 464 pages, the 2020 edition is 80 pages longer, slightly larger dimensionally, and 12 ounces heavier than the first edition. There are three taxon additions (113 vs. 110): the Brahminy Blindsnake (Indotyphlops braminus) and the subspecies of the Lined Snake (Tropidoclonion lineatum), which was regarded as monotypic in the first edition and by most recent authors.

Considering that a myriad of taxonomic proposals, range extensions, and natural history notes have been published in the fifteen years since the appearance of the first version, one would naturally expect a revision of that initial work to incorporate or at least address much of that new information. Given that the main function of a field guide is identification, however, it seems curious that the most obvious taxonomic changes incorporated in this revision involve common names. The Society for the Study of Amphibians and Reptiles(SSAR)-endorsed compounding of many common names for snakes (e.g., “coralsnake”) is completely accepted, whereas in the original edition the nouns and adjectives remained separate (e.g., “coral snake”). This is not a major concern since most people will quickly recognize either variation and it basically boils down to whatever one has become accustomed to; writing “rattle snake” instead of the compounded “rattlesnake,” will seem antiquated to most herpers because they have become accustomed to the compounded form over decades of use. Thankfully, however, we have been spared such atrocities as “hook-nosedsnake.”

Another seemingly unnecessary SSAR-endorsed common name change incorporated into this new edition is one that appears to be based on “political correctness” rather than a desire to maintain stability. The names “Texas Night Snake” and “Texas Hook-nosed Snake,” have been long used for two snakes indigenous to and most studied in Texas. The SSAR Crother Committee (2017), however, decided to replace “Texas” in their common names with “Chihuahuan” for the first and “Tamaulipan” for the other. Even though most notoriously geographically challenged norteamericanos (i.e., users of field guides) have no idea where these Mexican states are, the SSAR committee justified this change ostensibly due to the fact that these species have larger ranges in those Mexican states than they do in Texas. Trimorphodon vilkinsoni (omitting the double-“i” ending of the  original description), on the other hand, curiously remains the “Texas Lyresnake.” Unnecessarily changing or, in this case, accepting the proposed alteration of common names, in any case, does nothing to promote the stability expected in a reference work.

In the introductory section of the new edition, it states that “This revised edition indicates in the text where name changes seem likely and where name changes have been made.” But, as far as different generic assignments go, the only indication of such is the rather confusing placement of alternate genera within parentheses [e.g., Masticophis (Coluber) schotti]. This is confusing because parentheses are the standard method of citing subgenera. In this case, though, if subgenera were being implied, Masticophis should be within parentheses as a subgenus of Coluber.

In most cases involving real taxonomic issues (i.e., proposed changes in the scientific names of taxa), this revision has remained true to the conservative stance of the original authors. This is especially evident with regard to those that are considered controversial. Thus, the Common King Snake (Lampropeltis getula) remains unsplit with two subspecies within the state. The same is true with the Milk Snakes (Lampropeltis triangulum, with 4 subspecies) and the Copperheads (Agkistrodon contortrix, with three subspecies). Nevertheless, some of the changes that are accepted, as well as some that are rejected, are curious. For example, the now generally accepted splitting of North American Rat Snakes from Elaphe into Pantherophis is marked (with parentheses) as controversial. Additionally, the well-supported splitting of the eastern and western clades of the Massasauga is ignored without comment. Admittedly, delving into taxonomic debates is outside the general purview of a field guide, but it would have been helpful to include at least a subheading for “Taxonomic Issues” to list authors and dates of papers relevant to recent changes for those of us who are interested.

The original edition of this field guide (Dixon and Werler 2005) was basically a distillation of the same two authors’ Texas Snakes:  Identification, Distribution, and Natural History (Werler and Dixon 2000), which is without a doubt the best comprehensive treatment of the topic to date.  A hallmark of these two volumes was their conservative stance in declining to incorporate taxonomic changes that they considered inadequately supported or otherwise controversial. Conservatism in reference works, however, would seem to be the desired position, even when dealing with data from mostly peer-reviewed sources.

The conservative range maps of the first edition were also built on originals in the large Texas Snakes (2000) volume. These were based solely on localities that were represented by extant museum vouchers. For example, a Brazoria County locality where Werler himself collected Opheodrys vernalis was not represented with a dot as these specimens were never deposited in a museum. For their field guide version, however, Dixon and Werler incorporated only the shaded portions of the maps from the larger book, omitting the individual dot locality records.

Doing so made for highly accurate range maps for taxa that were well-represented in museum collections. But for other taxa that were less well-represented, it unfortunately sometimes gave the impression that large gaps in distribution existed where none actually did. For example, the map for the Black-tailed Rattlesnake (Crotalus molossus/C. ornatus) implies there is a significant hiatus in distribution between populations in the central/eastern Edwards Plateau and those of the Trans-Pecos/Stockton Plateau despite the existence of continuous prime habitat throughout the area of the supposed gap. This inaccuracy has been perpetuated in several subsequent publications (e.g., Campbell and Lamar [2004], Anderson and Greenbaum [2012]), and the current volume. Fortunately, some similar misleading gaps in the maps for other taxa have been corrected. The range maps in the new edition continue at the same reduced size as those in the first, making discernment of some finer details challenging (e.g., county boundaries in some areas).

As far as photographs are concerned, the first thing one notices is that the Black-tailed Rattlesnake photo gracing the cover of the first edition has been replaced with that of a Blair’s phase Gray-banded King Snake (Lampropeltis alterna). The color of the plastic cover itself has changed from black to red, a departure from the remainder of the herpetological entries in the excellent Texas Natural History Series. However, each taxon in this revision continues to be illustrated with the wonderful color photographs (portraits actually) mostly by Michael Bowerman and a few other Houston Zoo employees that first appeared in the large 2000 work. Some new photos are also included, with the photographers identified in the captions. Significantly, the photographs in the new edition are considerably larger than those in the first.

Dichotomous identification keys are continued in the new edition, which serve to take the user down to only the species level. This may be somewhat confusing as the individual taxon accounts are presented by subspecies. Fortunately, the excellent line drawings by Regina Levoy, which serve to elaborate on parts of the keys, continue as before. The mislabeling of drawings in the first edition illustrating pattern variations in the Common Kingsnake (sensu lato) and Patch-nosed Snakes (Figures 30 and 36, respectively in both editions) has been corrected.

The introductory section of the new edition also continues the extensive consideration of envenomation by the various taxa of Texas snakes. Of course, the term “poisonous” (favored by Werler, who knew his audience) in the first edition is replaced with “venomous.” Also, regarding the use of “more aggressive first aid measures—including incision and suction, with or without a constricting band or tourniquet; application of cold to the bite site; compression wrapping of the extremity; or stun gun electroshock”—which was weakly advised against in the first edition (“depending on the knowledge and decision of the victim”), is flatly disposed of with the admonition “should not be used.” Those readers wishing for more information concerning modern snakebite treatments are referred to the book by Rubio and Keyler (2010), whereas the first edition suggested the work by Dr. David I. Hardy (1992).

It is recognized that some of the observations/criticisms made in this review could be applied to the original volume equally as well (the first edition was not reviewed here because SWCHR did not yet exist). All things considered, however, with the relatively trivial changes made to the original edition, one must wonder why this revision was undertaken at all.

Literature Cited

G. Anderson, C. G., and E. Greenbaum. 2012. “Phylogeography of Northern Populations of the Blacktailed Rattlesnake (Crotalus molossus Baird and Girard, 1853), with the Revalidation of C. ornatus Hallowell, 1854.” Herpetological Monographs, 26: 19–57.

Campbell, J.A. and W.W. Lamar. 2004.  The venomous reptiles of the Western Hemisphere.  Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press. 

Crother, B. I. (Chair), J. Boundy, F. T. Burbrink, and S. Ruane. 2017. Squamata (in part) –Snakes. in B. I. Crother (ed.), “Scientific and Standard English Names of Amphibians and Reptiles of North America North of Mexico, with Comments Regarding Confidence in Our Understanding” pp. 1–102. SSAR Herpetological Circular 43.

Dixon, J. R., and J. E. Werler. 2005. Texas Snakes: A field guide. Univ. of Texas Press: Austin.

Hardy, D. I. 1992. “A review of first aid measures for pitviper bite in North America with an appraisal of extractor suction and stungun electroshock.” Pp 405-414 in Biology of the Pitvipers, Campbell and Brodie, eds. Selva, Tyler, Tex.

Powell, R., R. Conant, and J. T. Collins. 2016. Peterson Field Guide to Reptiles and Amphibians of Eastern and Central North America, Fourth Edition. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

Rubio, M., and D. E. Keyler. 2010. Venomous snakebite in the western United States. Eco Wear and Publishing. Rodeo, N.M.

Stebbins, Robert C., and Samuel M. McGinnis. 2018. Peterson Field Guide to Western Reptiles & Amphibians, Fourth Edition. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Werler, J. E. and J. R. Dixon. 2000. Texas Snakes: Identification, Distribution, and Natural History. Univ. of Texas Press: Austin.

[This review was originally published in the Fall 2020 issue of the SWCHR Bulletin]

Book Review: Night Lizards – Field Memoirs and a Summary of the Xantusiidae

by Robert L. Bezy

ECO Publishing: Rodeo, NM, 2019.
Softcover.  220 pp.  Publisher's List: $24.95, Amazon: $24.95, Kindle Ebook: currently unavailable
ISBN: 978-1938850592

Review by Tom Lott

A herpetological monograph is typically a very narrow academic treatment limited to a particular taxonomic group, be it a family, genus, or even a species. Consequently, they tend to be dry, staid documents that are primarily of interest only to specialists and systemists working in those limited areas.

Knowing this, I was somewhat reluctant to undertake a perusal of a new offering from ECO  Herpetological Publishing & Distribution that appeared to be primarily a monograph of the lizard family Xantusiidae, which I am only vicariously acquainted with, having never encountered any of its members in the field. Nevertheless, after reading favorable and even enticing comments about it from fellow herpers on Facebook, and knowing that ECO seldom publishes anything uninteresting, I took the plunge.

In typical ECO efficiency, my order shipped out from Rodeo the same day and arrived at my doorstep only a couple of days later—even at literary rates!

I had previously read some of Dr. Bezy’s Xanthusia accounts in the Sonoran Herpetologist, so I was not totally surprised that he was capable of crafting entertaining narratives concerning his experiences with these diminutive saurians. Bezy is, after all, one of the main authorities—if not THE main authority—on this entire family of interesting lizards. Bezy’s own papers account for 21 (6.3%) of the 334 papers listed in the Literature Cited section of the book. Of the 14 currently recognized species of Northern Night Lizards (Xantusia), 4 were described by Bezy, and one is named for him.  The family also includes the monotypic Cuban endemic Cricosaura typica, and 20 species of Tropical Night Lizards (Lepidophyma), three of which were described by Bezy.

The first 95 pages of the book are comprised of 8 chapters or sections covering the following topics, most of which will not be found in a typical monograph: Introduction, A Brief Autobiography, Field Memoirs, Night Lizard: A Brief Overview, Historical Perspective, Questions, Unisexuals, and Ecology. The remainder of the book consists of the monograph per se: individual species accounts, a dichotomous key to the night lizards, and a literature cited section containing 334 entries.  

In the “Introduction,” Bezy attempts to explain why he decided to spend his life studying reptiles and amphibians. The next section, “A Brief Autobiography,” covers the unlikely connection between the author’s “almost failing the seventh grade” leading to a career in natural history, including his fortunate association with the legendary herpetologist Dr. Charles Lowe during his undergraduate and graduate time at the University of Arizona in Tucson. Upon completion of his Ph.D. there in 1970, Bezy accepted a curatorial position at the Los Angeles Natural History Museum, where he remained until his retirement in 1997.  

Bezy’s “Field Memoirs,” which are presented in chronological order, cover the years 1956 (where, on a trip with his parents, he collected his very first   Xantusia at the cost of an incidental envenomation by an Arizona Bark Scorpion) to 1996 (where, while viewing the spectacular Hyakutake Comet from his family’s campsite in Arizona’s Harquahala Mountains, he decided to retire from his museum position and return to the Sonoran Desert). The memoir entries from those 40 years make up 60 pages of the book and are some of the best first-person accounts of the development of an author as a naturalist since Harry Greene’s Tracks and Shadows (Greene 2013), all the while narrating an insider’s view of the history of the accumulation of Xantusiid data.

The remainder of Bezy’s riveting  “Field Memoirs” consists primarily of his Indiana Jones-like exploits in Latin America seeking additional evidence of newly described, isolated species of Night Lizards, most of which were based on a limited number of specimens and/or known only from their various type localities.

In the chapter entitled “Night Lizards: A Brief Overview,” Bezy discusses the geological factors that have resulted in the patterns seen in the current members of the Xantusiidae, such as their small size, isolated populations, and, in some cases, extreme habitat specificity. For example, individuals of the Desert Night Lizard (Xantusia vigilis) may spend their entire existence within and under a single fallen Joshua Tree (Yucca brevifolia). The Tropical Night Lizards (Lepidophyma), however, appear to be somewhat more generalized in their habitat specializations than are their more northerly counterparts (Xantusia sp.).

In “Historical Perspectives” Bezy details the contributions of eight major herpetologists to our understanding of the Night Lizards, beginning with the Hungarian-born János Xántus in 1858 through his own work with Richard Zweifel and Charles Lowe, mainly in the 1960s. Xántus, a colorful character for whom the genus Xantusia, as well as the family Xantusiidae, are named, collected the first three specimens while stationed with the U. S. Army at Fort Tejon in southern California. These were sent to Spencer Fullerton Baird at the Smithsonian Institution who described them as a new family, genus, and species: Xantusiiidae: Xantusia vigilis (Baird 1859).

The chapter entitled “Questions” recounts problems within the Xantusiidae that Bezy sought to solve, with each solution predictably exposing additional questions to be investigated. For example, did the morphological similarities in rock-dwelling species result from convergence rather than relatedness? This led him to examine features that were not directly related to habitat similarity, investigating first chromosomes, then enzymes, and ultimately gene sequencing as these respective technologies became available.

Among these additional problems were:

• The cause for giantism in the Island Night Lizard (Xantusia riversiana) of San Clemente Island off the coast of California.
• How did speciation occur among lizards with such extremely restricted ranges that even adjacent populations were effectively isolated from each other?
• Why did unisexuality emerge among some populations of Tropical Night Lizards (Lepidophyma) in Central America?

Further questions emerged regarding the poorly known ecology of the Night Lizards, such as:

• Are the Night Lizards really all that nocturnal or do their secretive habits conceal some diurnal activity?
• How did viviparity evolve among the Night Lizards (only the most basal form, the Cuban Night Lizard [Cricosaura typica], is oviparous) and how do ecological factors affect their reproductive strategies?
• What is the role of observed sociality in these lizards?
• With some species being herbivorous, other insectivorous, and still other omnivorous, how did these dietary proclivities evolve?
• What is the significance of parasites, consisting mostly of helminth worms, in these lizards?
• How did the Night Lizards’ longevity, sedentary home ranges, and low metabolic rates evolve, especially in the desert-adapted Xantusia?
•  On the question of conservation, Bezy concludes that most of the 35 known species of Xantusiids are “vulnerable to extinction due to human impacts (including climate change) on their small geographic distributions and narrow temperature and habitat limitations.”

The final 125 pages of the book are comprised of the “Species Accounts,” each of which is profusely illustrated with excellent color photos of lizards, habitat, and dot-locality distribution maps. Each account also consists of a synonymy, an identification diagnostic, a description of the karyotype, size, distribution and habitat, life history, taxonomic etymology, and an extensive discussion section where Bezy discourses on his personal conception and experience with each taxon.

The species accounts are followed by an illustrated dichotomous identification key to the known species of the Xantusiidae. This is further supplemented with a detailed, illustrated explanation of the unique scale features of these lizards employed in the identification keys.

The entire book is abundantly illustrated with excellent color photos, many by the author’s biologist spouse, Dr. Kathryn Bolles. The cover artwork by superb herp artist Tell Hicks is so realistic that for the longest time I was under the impression that it was a photograph of a pair of Xantusia vigilis.   

Once again ECO Publishing has succeeded in producing another valuable contribution to herpetological literature authored by a reigning expert on the taxa covered. This book provides a timely insight into the development of an outstanding herpetologist as he hones his craft advancing our understanding of a little-studied group of animals. If you are interested in natural history at all—even if not especially in Night Lizards—this fascinating book should hold your interest.

Literature Cited

Baird, S. F. 1859. Description of new genera and species of North American lizards in the museum of the Smithsonian Institution. Proceedings of the Academy of Natural Sciences, Philadelphia. 1858(10): 253-256.

Greene, Harry W. 2013. Tracks and Shadows: Field Biology as Art. Berkeley: Univ. California Press. 296 Pp.

[This review first appeared in the Spring 2020 issue of the Bulletin of the Southwestern Center for Herpetological Research]

Book Review: Secrets of Snakes: The Science beyond the Myths

by David A. Steen
2019.  184 pp.  College Station: Texas A&M University Press,
W. L. Moody Jr. Natural History Series.  ISBN: 978-1-62349-797-2 
Softbound $25.00 ($23.75 through Amazon.com)

Tom Lott (Southwestern Center for Herpetological Research)

I must admit that I was initially inclined to dismiss this book as just another “facts about snakes” tome. However, after reading Harry Greene’s glowing praise in his foreword, I was convinced that this volume was different — and so it is. Author David A. Steen has selected this list of rules of thumb, myths, and misunderstandings based on his years of experience interacting with the public through first a newspaper column, then a widely read blog (http://livingalongsidewildlife.com/), and more recently, via Instagram and Twitter. Each short chapter addresses a subject that Steen has learned is important by listening to his readers. Consequently, the topics he has chosen to address are remarkably current rather than tired old concerns that have fallen by the wayside.

The book’s content is divided into three main parts. Part I (Chapters 1-8) deals not so much with myths but rather with the tips, shortcuts, and rules of thumb that have been devised to provide the general public with simple black/white, true/false rules they can use to easily distinguish venomous snakes from non-venomous ones. The problem is that, while each of these rules is mostly true, each should also be constrained by caveats that are usually left unspoken because the stipulations require more explanation or knowledge than is typically provided (or wanted) to be completely reliable. Steen would have the public become trained to recognize types of snakes rather than merely attempting to identify them, much as one recognizes friends and relatives rather than identifying them as different from strangers. Unfortunately, this requires experience and exposure, neither of which the non-herper may be expected to possess. For example, most herpers with actual experience with Coral Snakes do not need to refer to the old rhyme “red touch yellow, kill a fellow,  red touch black, venom lack.” The gestalt (i.e., suite of characters) of Coral Snakes differs so greatly from that of their mimics that recognition occurs immediately, without any need to refer to the simplistic rhyme. But that recognition comes from experience that the average person does not have (nor wish to acquire). Additionally, a couple of the qualifications that Steen attaches to this particular “rule” is that most Coral Snakes will have a variable amount of black spotting within (i.e., touching) their red rings and that the rhyme is valid only in the United States. Other “rules” covered in this section include: that venomous snakes may be distinguished by their triangular heads, the difference between Cottonmouths and “water moccasins,” distinguishing between Cottonmouths and Copperheads, black snakes, the swimming posture of Cottonmouths vs. water snakes, tail vibration, and pupil shape as a distinguishing character. I personally admit to having frequently referred questioners to many of these “rules” simply to provide them with the succinct answer they obviously wanted.

Part II (Chapters 9-19) deals more with actual myths and misconceptions about snakes. One of the broader definitions of a myth is that it is a widely held but false belief or idea. Myths typically arise from the human need to “explain” mysterious, unknown, or otherwise baffling phenomena. In herpetology, snakes are, of course, the subject of the most mythical beliefs. If, as a herper, you are ever in a position to interact with the general public concerning snakes, you will encounter such beliefs. And you should be advised that the perpetrators will often cling tenaciously to their stories, with some even taking offense when offered facts challenging their tales. On such occasions, Steen invokes the advice of the late Carl Sagan that “extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.” He suggests photographs or videos as acceptable support but, absent those, his advice is to calmly state that “the available evidence does not support the account.” Sometimes, however, it may be best to avoid directly contradicting these anecdotes since it will distract from your intended message. My boyhood herp mentor, the late Jack Reid, whom I occasionally assisted with snake presentations to various groups, had what I consider the perfect response when regularly and persistently regaled with accounts of being “chased” by snakes. He would say: “Well, I wasn’t there, but in my experience, if snakes did actually chase people, they would be a lot easier to catch!”

Part III (Chapters 20-29) concentrates on “Understanding Snakes” and begins (Ch. 20, “How Big Do Rattlesnakes Get”) with the ubiquitous internet deception that Steen credits with stimulating him to write this book. The familiar hoax involves a digital photo of someone holding up a deceased rattlesnake of seemingly impressive dimensions at the end of a pole or set of tongs. The exaggerated apparent size of the snake is obtained, of course, by means of an optical illusion known as “forced perspective,” where the snake is deliberately held closer to the camera than the nearest reference object (usually the person holding the snake). This old trick has been used by anglers for decades to falsely enhance the size of their catch, but apparently snake fabulists waited for the advent of digital photography and the internet to exploit the illusion. Steen has been dealing with this particular hoax on his blog for well over a decade and it is worth a visit there (https://livingalongsidewildlife.com/?p=5135) to appreciate how persistent this prank has been. Many of you have probably received such an email sent by a curious friend or relative questioning its veracity; I usually respond by sending them the link to Steen’s blog post(s) (above). This last section of the book also contains some questions for which the jury (i.e., conclusive scientific evidence), in some cases, is still out, such as: “is relocating a snake a death sentence?,”  along with “can snakes bite underwater?,” “why doesn’t it make sense to kill snakes in your yard,” “what is the most dangerous snake?,” “is this snake ‘poisonous’?,” “will it bite?,” “what is a ‘mating dance’?,” “are snakes territorial?,” and “how can I keep snakes out of my yard?” Steen responds to these questions by referring to relevant studies, some of which have obtained differing results. However, I suspect that more interested or advanced readers would have appreciated actual literature citations for the various studies that are frequently referenced.

This thin volume is sturdily bound with durable covers. It is printed on heavy, glossy paper stock and contains more than 100 color photographs relevant to the species and/or behaviors being discussed. Additionally, each of the three main sections of the book is introduced with the exceptional artwork of Sarah Dahlinger. Typographical errors are rare or absent and the only lapse that I detected was a photo of an Eastern Diamond-backed Rattlesnake (Crotalus adamanteus) on page 107 that was cropped and repeated on the next page. But the caption for the second image refers to a Timber Rattlesnake (Crotalus horridus), including an attribution to a different photographer.   

Steen’s writing style is light, conversational, and frequently humorous, probably thanks to his extensive blogging experience. He employs scientific nomenclature only when needed and thoughtfully defines technical terms and concepts that cannot be avoided in his explanations. Consequently, even though he holds a Ph.D. and is a university professor, he never comes across as a stuffy academic. Members of the nomenclature police, however, will doubtless notice that he has generally adhered to the standards published by the Society for the Study of Amphibians and Reptiles (SSAR) [Crother (ed.), 2017] for the sake of consistency even though he seems to disagree with some of them, as explained in an endnote to Chapter 3. This includes his use of such SSAR-endorsed compounding eyesores as “cornsnake” rather than “Corn Snake.” Steen also deviates from SSAR orthodoxy by failing to capitalize the accepted common names of snake taxa, although this may be more due to the publisher’s copy editor favoring certain journalistic style manuals instead. There is, nevertheless, a difference between “smooth green snake” and “Smooth Green Snake.”

In summation, I found this book to be surprisingly applicable to many encounters I have had when attempting to explain snakes to members of the general public. It will prove to be a valuable asset, particularly to less experienced herpers who will inevitably be called upon to defend their avocation to those less enlightened. Even more veteran herpers, such as this reviewer, can derive considerable benefit from having such a thorough yet concise compendium of current myths and beliefs readily at hand. 

Dr. David A. Steen is a wildlife ecologist and conservation biologist. He has written this book and maintains his blog and other social media presence because he feels that outreach about natural history and conservation is important and helps foster an appreciation of wildlife and wild landscapes. He is the Research Ecologist of the Georgia Sea Turtle Center on Jekyll Island, Georgia, the Executive Director of The Alongside Wildlife Foundation, and serves on the Board of Directors of the Wildlands Network. 

Literature Cited

Crother, B. I. (ed.). 2017. Scientific and Standard English Names of Amphibians and Reptiles of North America North of Mexico, with Comments Regarding Confidence in Our Understanding pp. 1–102. SSAR Herpetological Circular 43.

[This review was originally published in the November 2019 issue of the Bulletin of the Chicago Herpetological Society.]

The Little Frog That Could

The Diaspora of the Rio Grande Chirping Frog, Eleutherodactylus cystignathoides (Anura: Eleutherodactylidae) in the United States

by Tom Lott

Figure 1. An adult Rio Grande Chirping Frog (Eleutherodactylus cystignathoides) from Atascosa County, Texas. Photograph by the author.

Among the worst environmental news of the latter decades of the twentieth-century was the revelation that some populations of frogs and toads in various parts of the world had suffered drastic crashes or had become extinct altogether.  Due in part to the typical amphibian lifestyle that requires an aquatic stage, many frogs have fallen victim to the rapid pace at which wetlands are being “reclaimed” and/or contaminated.  Others, even though occurring in relatively pristine habitats, have been devastated by a host of fungal, viral, and other pathogens only recently identified.  Worldwide, it is estimated that 168 amphibian species have become extinct during the past two decades and fully one-third of all known species are considered to be threatened with extinction (Dodd, 2013).

Against this gloomy observation, however, is a glimmer of encouragement. Bucking the trend, with no small but unintentional assistance from mankind, is a tiny tropical frog that once just barely entered the state of Texas in the Lower Rio Grande Valley.

Not nearly as long as its scientific name in print (Eleutherodactylus cystignathoides), the Rio Grande Chirping Frog has been leapfrogging (or, more accurately, hitchhiking) its way into a much wider distribution within three Gulf States during the last five decades.

I recall my astonishment at finding a single individual at an impromptu dump site in San Antonio, Texas, in 1969, two-hundred miles north of its known range at the time. However, within the next forty years they were reported from Corpus Christi, Houston, and even as far north as the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex and Shreveport, Louisiana. These latter two localities are the northernmost reported thus far and suggest that the frogs, though tropical in origin, can probably survive decidedly “untropical” winters.

Chirping Frogs belong to a primarily Neotropical group (family Eleutherodactylidae) that is extremely abundant, in both species and individuals, in more tropical latitudes. Several members of this family have been introduced, mainly via the nursery trade from several Caribbean islands, into southern Florida, where they thrive.  At the generic level, the exact placement of the Chirping Frogs remains somewhat unresolved and they tend to bounce back-and-forth between the genera Eleutherodactylus and Syrrhophus, according to the most recent whim of taxonomists and phylogeneticists (one should be aware, however, that much of the limited literature on the group is found under the latter name).  Of the three species of Eleutherodactylid frogs that occur naturally in the United States, all are found in Texas.

The Rio Grande Chirping Frog was originally introduced to science by the Smithsonian’s Leonard Stejneger's (1915) description of it as a new species, “Syrrhophus campi,” based on specimens from Brownsville, Texas. It remained thus classified until John D. Lynch’s (1970) review of the genus placed it as a northern subspecies of a frog, Syrrhopus cystignathoides, that had been described earlier by Edward D. Cope (1877), using specimens from southeastern Mexico. This tiny, nondescript frog remains almost as poorly known today as it was then. Except for range extensions, little has been written about it in the herpetological literature since its discovery.

Even with range extensions, it has become apparent that the accepted method of establishing the distributions of reptiles and amphibians (involving depositing physical voucher specimens in recognized museum collections, awaiting expert taxonomic verification, etc.) is inadequate when dealing with species experiencing rapid, even explosive range expansions.  

For example, the first “official” record for Eleutherodactylus cystignathoides from Brazoria County, Texas (which is adjacent to the dense, long known Houston population) appeared only in 2005 (McCoid, 2005).  Evidence indicates, however, that the Rio Grande Chirping Frog was present in Brazoria County almost 30 years earlier.  A specimen from the town of Brazoria, collected by one of William K. Davis' field biology classes from Southwest Texas State University in 1976, resided in a study collection at the university (pers. obs.).  When asked about the specimen, Davis replied that it was genuinely from that locality and that he had intended to publish a note about it, but had never gotten around to it (Wm. K. Davis, pers. comm.).  This was three years prior even to the “official” announcement of the Houston population (Quinn, 1979).

Similarly, the first record indicating that E. cystignathoides could have established a population outside the Lower Rio Grande Valley, in San Antonio, Bexar County, was published in 1976 (Mather and Dixon, 1976).  However, almost seven years prior to that, on 7 November 1969, I collected a single adult specimen of Eleutherodactylus cystignathoides just a few meters inside the southern limits of that city, indicating that the taxon had likely been present in Bexar County for some time before its announcement to science.  The failure of both Davis and me to make timely notice of our respective discoveries is symptomatic of a “time lag” that is practically built into the traditional procedure for documenting range extensions and one which is counterproductive to our ability to accurately determine the up to date distribution of dynamically expanding species such as the Rio Grande Chirping Frog.

Consequently, the range map included here (Fig. 2) is based upon all “reliable” available records, such as VertNet, literature records, reviewed citizen science sites (e.g., iNat, HERP database, etc.), as well as personal observations of trusted observers. It is believed that this method, similar to that employed by the birding community, yields a slightly more current and ephemerally accurate impression of the species’ distribution. It should be understood, however, that by the time this reaches publication it will be rendered somewhat obsolescent by new discoveries.

Figure 2. Map of the current distribution of the Rio Grande Chirping Frog (Eleutherodactylus cystignathoides) based on available records. The stippled areas represent county records since 1976. The two counties in black at the southern tip of Texas (Cameron and Hidalgo) represent the presumed original (natural) range of the species in the U. S. [Click on image to enlarge]

For most people, their first encounter with this frog will be hearing its characteristic “chirp” in their yard; a sound more bird or insect-like than one would probably expect. The call consists of two or three distinct, evenly spaced chirps that are cricket-like in pitch, lacking some of the insect's trill, but with much more volume. Chirping may be heard on almost any night during the warmer months, especially when the humidity is high, either naturally or from landscape irrigation.

The calls also have a ventriloquial effect, making the frog's location difficult to detect from its sound alone. Even experienced frog biologists often resort to a method called “triangulation” to locate calling individuals. This consists of simply having each of two listeners simultaneously point toward the area from which each thinks the call is coming. Where the imaginary lines extending from their fingers cross, there is a reasonable expectation of finding the frog.

In keeping with generalizations among frogs, it appears that male chirping frogs alone are responsible for the calls and that they serve both a territorial and a sexual attractant function. The male probably stakes out a site favorable for egg deposition, then commences to call, drawing females to the location. However, considering the numbers of frogs occasionally found together under a single piece of debris, it is doubtful that they are strongly territorial.

One of the traits of the Rio Grande Chirping Frog that allows it to be introduced into new areas is its unusual (for a frog) reproductive cycle. It is much less dependent upon the availability of water than most other frogs for the completion of its life cycle. In fact, it bypasses the free-swimming tadpole stage altogether. The embryo develops completely within the egg, emerging as a minuscule replica of the adult.

This behavior has apparently allowed eggs laid in potted nursery stock in Texas' Rio Grande Valley to be transported in all directions as the plants are shipped out. What is surprising is that this little frog has not been reported from even more localities where it now almost certainly occurs.  A similar process has allowed the Mediterranean Gecko (Hemidactylus turcicus, a small, wall-climbing lizard native to the Middle East) to invade and colonize much of the southern tier of states in the U.S., mostly around human habitations. Gecko eggs, however, are far more resistant to desiccation than those of even terrestrial frogs, so I do not expect the chirping frog to ever attain a comparably extensive range to the west (although there are persistent rumors of an established population existing within a well-watered yard in Phoenix, Arizona!).

Ironically, despite its ubiquity where it occurs, we know much more about many rarer frogs, found in exotic, inaccessible localities. Being human, most herpetologists are drawn to investigate the more “glamorous” species first, ignoring this dowdy little “frog next door.” Consequently, much of its interesting natural history remains equivocal.

However, our most detailed and non-anecdotal knowledge of the reproductive and developmental biology of this little frog has resulted mainly from the efforts of Louise Hayes-Odum, who studied the introduced population on the grounds of the Houston Zoo in 1984.  One of the initial problems she encountered was how to determine the sex of individual specimens, which superficially appear identical.  Hayes-Odum solved this problem by relying upon the presence of developing eggs in adult females, which are visible through the abdominal wall, as well as their slightly larger size (>22mm, snout-vent); nocturnally vocalizing frogs were presumed to be males. She found frogs calling from perches as high as 22cm (8.7 in) above the ground during the night and at air temperatures as low as 20.5^oC (68.9^oF), but observed that they retreated towards lower perches near dawn.  Most calling heard after sunrise was from frogs located within tunnels in the ground.  A clutch of 5 eggs dug up (close to the surface) at the study site averaged ca. 5mm in diameter and were unpigmented, even though at advanced stages of development.  Wild hatchlings (ca. 6mm, snout-vent) were first observed on 6 June.

Since, despite her efforts, Hayes-Odum failed to observe reproductive behavior in the field, she stimulated it among a captive group by the injection of a small amount of synthetic gonadotrophin-releasing hormone into both sexes.  Interactions between the frogs appeared to be territorial, and on one occasion a female seemed to be soliciting amplexus from a presumed male.  Incubation took from 14 to 16 days at temperatures from 27-33^oC (80.6-91.4^oF).  Three clutches of eggs were observed, numbering 5, 10, and 13. (Hayes-Odum, 1990)

Cool winter temperatures should limit this frog's range expansion to the north. Although the San Antonio population apparently survived two unusually cold winters during the 1980s, (one consisting of subfreezing temperatures for a week, the other of thirteen inches of snowfall), I would not expect them to endure much farther north than the Fort Worth-Shreveport records indicate.  They are, however, rapidly expanding their domain eastward along the Gulf Coast, aided no doubt by the more subtropical climate to be found there.  The Rio Grande Chirper is currently known from five parishes in Louisiana and their easternmost extent, as of this writing, is Mobile County, Alabama.

Interestingly, in Alabama and in at least three of the Louisiana localities where they have been found, the Rio Grande Chirper is occurring sympatrically with a very similar, congeneric, exotic species, the Greenhouse Frog (Eleutherodactylus planirostris), which has itself been moving northward and westward from its apparent introduction point of Key West, Florida in 1863 (Lazell, 1989). 

Initially, it seems that most authors expected that these introduced populations of E. cystignathoides would remain more or less restricted to edificarian or other human-altered habitats. However, observations from southeastern Texas and from localities as far west as Victoria and Bexar counties suggest that this species may be carving out a niche for itself in the natural environment, becoming less dependent upon human disturbances for its survival in those locales.  In general, I would speculate that virtually every county in Texas east of or along I-35 likely harbors at least one or more localized populations of E. cystignathoides.  The virtual absence of records for this species to the west of the I-35 corridor, except for a slight penetration onto the southeastern Edwards Plateau, is puzzling but could merely represent a sampling anomaly. 

The existence of the very similar and naturally-occurring Cliff Chirping Frog (Eleutherodactylus marnockii) along the Balcones Fault Zone and on much of the Edwards Plateau presents the possibility of interaction between it and E. cystignathoides.  I am presently unaware of any reports of suspected hybridization or even competition between these two species where they occur sympatrically, although Wallace (2005) opined that such contacts could detrimentally introduce hybridization, competition, and novel pathogens into the native E. marnockii populations. He further stated that steps should be taken to prevent further introductions of E. cystignathoides, but did not suggest any practical means of doing this nor of eradicating currently well-established colonies of Rio Grande Chirpers. .

Both the native Cliff Chirping Frog of the Edwards Plateau of Texas and the locally introduced Rio Grande Chirper have very similar vocalizations, consisting of several distinct chirps alternating with a similar number of trills, but there does not appear to be any diagnostic pattern in the sequence of these variations. The calls of the slightly smaller Rio Grande Chirper seem to be somewhat higher in pitch than the larger Cliff Chirper, but this is likely a function of relative body size and ambient temperature, with some overlap between the two species. Consequently, extra care should be exercised in the evaluation of aural records from localities where both species may occur as their vocalizations are distinguishable only to the acutely sensitive and well-trained ear.

All amphibians share the problem of water loss through the skin. The Rio Grande Chirping Frog is essentially a “terrestrial” species, meaning that it is not dependent upon standing water, as are the more “semi-aquatic” forms, such as Leopard Frogs and Bullfrogs. Terrestrial frogs that live in semi-arid habitats must compensate, either behaviorally or physiologically, to the increased drain upon the water reserve in their tissues that such environment exact.

Extended droughts, although a feature of its “natural” habitat in the Lower Rio Grande Valley, seem, from my field observations, to inflict considerable stress upon the introduced populations I have studied. I suspect that, like other terrestrial amphibians of the area (e.g., the Gulf Coast Toad [Incilius nebulifer]), the chirping frog may sustain itself through droughts by moving deep into cracks that develop in the black clay soil of the San Antonio area.  I have also discovered some evidence that the San Antonio population occasionally uses wood rat (Neotoma micropus) nests( some still occupied by their builders!), along with pocket gopher and mole tunnels, as well as human-generated surface debris to evade brief interludes of cold temperature.

Of the specimens that I have found in San Antonio, the amphibians they have been most commonly associated with are the similar-sized Western Narrow-mouthed Toad (Gastrophryne olivacea) and, to a lesser extent, the Green Toad (Anaxyrus debilis). The susceptibility of chirping frogs and their eggs to the voracious Imported Fire Ant (Solenopsis invicta) is unknown, although the two associated species named above seemed to have accommodated this environmental insult. I suspect that the Narrow-mouthed Toad even successfully feeds upon fire ants.

The predators of the Rio Grande Chirping Frog are not well known but any of a number of small snakes occupying similar habitat are likely candidates. Several authors have suggested that in the Lower Grande Valley and points to the south, the Black-striped Snake (Coniophanes imperialis) is a significant predator of this species (e.g., Conant, 1955). Garter snakes (Thamnophis sp.) are known to actively prey upon the closely related Cliff Chirping Frog (Eleutherodactylus marnockii) of the Edwards Plateau, so it is probable that they are major predators of the Rio Grande species also. Larger spiders are also known to prey upon small frogs: Chris Harrison photographed an undetermined species of tarantula attacking a frog of this species in Tamaulipas, Mexico in1999 (Harrison, 2010). .

Frogs typically rely on toxic skin secretions as their first line of defense against predators but, again, little is known about the dermal pharmacology of this species.  At least one hobbyist has anecdotally alleged that Rio Grande Chirpers were toxic to water snakes (Nerodia) that consumed them as well as to other amphibians with which they merely shared enclosures.  Another, however, routinely used them without problems to entice feeding in hatchling Green Tree Pythons (Morelia viridis).

Introduced species are typically ill-regarded by ecologists, with the implication that introductions, whether deliberate or accidental, are never beneficial for the recipient ecosystem.  Considering the lack of baseline data for the Rio Grande Chirping Frog, the jury may be out for some time on this species. Given that it is largely edificarian in the areas into which it has been introduced, occupying habitats already grossly altered by human activity, I am inclined to consider this cheerful little amphibian to be, at worst, neutral. Having been documented to feed upon cockroaches, it is certainly welcome around my house!

Literature Cited

Conant, R. 1955.  Notes on three Texas reptiles, including an addition to the fauna of the state.  Amer. Mus. Novit.  1726: 1-6. 

Cope, E.D. 1877 (1878). A new genus of Cystignathidae from Texas. American Naturalist 12:253.

Dodd, C.K. 2013. Frogs of the United States and Canada.  Johns Hopkins University Press. 1032 pp.

Harrison, C. 2010. Noted and photographed a tarantula preying upon an E. cystignathoides in Tamaulipas, MX.        [http://www.naherp.com/viewrecord.php?r_id=58440]

Hayes-Odum, L.A. 1990. Observations on reproduction and embryonic development in Syrrhophus cystignathoides campi (Anura: Leptodactylidae). Southwest. Nat. 35(3): 358-361. 

Lazell, J. D., Jr. 1989. Wildlife of the Florida Keys: A Natural History. Washington, D. C.: Island Press. 254 pp.

Lynch, J.D. 1970. A taxonomic revision of the leptodactylid frog genus Syrrhophus Cope. Univ. Kans. Publ. Mus. Nat. Hist. 20(1): 1-45

Mather, C.M., and J.R. Dixon. 1976. Geographic records of some Texas amphibians and reptiles. Herpetol. Rev. 7(3): 127. 

McCoid, M.J.  2005. Geographic distribution. Eleutherodactylus cystignathoides. Herpetol. Rev. 36(2): 199. 

Quinn, H. R. 1979b.  The Rio Grande chirping frog, Syrrhophus cystignathoides campi (Amphibia, Leptodactylidae), from Houston, Texas.  Trans. Kans. Acad. Sci. 82(4):209-10.

Stejneger, L. 1915.  A new species of tailless batrachian from North America.  Proc. Biol. Soc. Wash. 28:131.

Wallace, J. Eric. 2005.  Eleutherodactylus (=Syrrhophus) marnockii (Cope, 1878a). Cliff Chirping Frog. in Lannoo, Michael (ed.), Amphibian Declines: the conservation status of United States species.  Berkeley: Univ. of Cal. Press, pp. 496-499. 

 [This article first appeared in the March 2019 issue of the Bulletin of the Chicago Herpetological Society.]

 

Book Review: Reptiles and Amphibians of Arizona, A Natural History and Field Guide

By John C. Murphy

Book Services Publishing Co., 2018, 316 pp.

Publisher's List: Hardcover:  $46.95 (ISBN-10: 9781642554830),
Softcover:  $35.95 (ISBN-13: 978-1642554830)
Amazon: Hardcover: $44.25, Softcover: $35.95.
Kindle Ebook: currently unavailable

Review by Tom Lott
([email protected])

Reviewers often point out that the primary function of a field guide is to lead the user to the correct identification of various subjects of interest: in this case the taxa of reptiles and amphibians found within the political boundaries of the state of Arizona. This task is typically accomplished by enumerating the morphological, distributional, and other characteristics of the creatures involved.

It is almost a rule of thumb, however, that the larger the area covered by a field guide the fewer of those “other characteristics” that will be mentioned. For example, in the latest edition of the Peterson Field Guide to the Amphibians and Reptiles of the Eastern and Central United States (Powell, Conant, and Collins 2016) the original authors’ natural history remarks were virtually eliminated. Therefore, it is refreshing to see a regional guide where natural history and other relevant data are accentuated.

Despite worldwide interest in the herpetological diversity to be found in Arizona, it is somewhat surprising that so few field guides have been written specifically about it. Obviously, the book to which this one will most frequently be compared is that by Brennan and Holycross (2006), published by the Arizona Game and Fish Department, which at 150 pages is slightly less than half the pagination of the current volume and contains much less natural history information.

Layout – This volume is self-published using the printing facilities of Book Services Publishing Company. It is distributed through Book Services’ marketing website Square Peg Bookshop (www. http://squarepegbookshop.com/), Amazon, and other entities. It is also a prime example of how effective modern self-publishing can be in providing narrow disciplines with valuable niche-specific books that might not otherwise see the light of day if left to the vagaries of traditional publishing.

In construction, the softcover edition is indistinguishable in quality from similar volumes available from traditional publishing houses. Whether its size (6.7 x 9.6 inches) and construction will allow it to hold up to actual field use is doubtful. In fairness, however, its size and construction is virtually identical to that of the thinner Brennan and Holycross (op. cit.) field guide.

This book is printed on a non-gloss paper similar to that found in high-quality paperbacks. Unfortunately, while this medium is fine for text-heavy documents, it does no favors for volumes, such as this one, containing many photographs, which reproduce better on glossy stock.

Introduction – The brief 12-page introduction covers some general facts about the Arizona herpetofauna, followed by a short listing of some of the major geological events that shaped the state’s current topography and habitats. A subsequent discussion of four physical filter/barriers (Cochise, Madrean Line, Mogollon Rim, and Colorado River) informs the reader about their effects on the distribution and phylogeny of Arizona herps.

Following this is an account of the species diversity of Arizona and why so many of its species are in danger of extinction due to a number of factors, especially amphibians in an arid habitat even before the appearance of chytridiomycosis.

The introduction also includes a Nature Conservancy map of the ecoregions of the American west, five of which are to be found within Arizona. A related NOAA map of the relative annual precipitation in the state is also provided. Additionally, Murphy lists some supplementary sources of information about Arizona’s herps, in both print form and online. The introduction concludes with the author’s methods for constructing range maps, his sources for the taxonomic and common names used, and a discourse on frog calls that would have been better placed at the beginning of the amphibian account.  

Species Accounts – The morphological characteristics necessary for identification of a taxon are typically covered in the first paragraph or two of its species account, with the remainder of the entry being devoted to natural history and other relevant or interesting facts.

The natural history accounts for most species are quite thorough for species for which information is available. A frustrating tendency, however, is for a specific study to be cited with the authors’ names and date in parentheses, but when one is seeking the complete citation in the “References” section to find it absent. For example, the far-reaching works of David Hardy and Harry Greene on the Black-tailed Rattlesnakes (Crotalus molossus) of southeastern Arizona are mentioned extensively in the account for that species, including two specific parenthetical references to particular papers, but none of Hardy and Greene’s works on C. molossus is included in the references.

Conservation – As mentioned, a nationwide county map in a full-page sidebar within the introduction highlights the concentration of endangered/threatened species to be found in the state. It is here, in conjunction with the map, that the author provides his most moving prose about the actual environmental threats facing Arizona’s herpetofauna, a stance that doesn’t always come across elsewhere in the book.

In his individual species accounts Murphy, unfortunately, tends to use the misleading phrase “completely protected” when referring to species listed in either state and/or federal threatened and endangered regulations. Nothing could be further from reality. Like most state T&E regulations, Arizona’s are aimed primarily at herp enthusiasts and/or exploiters whose “depredations” are comparable to those of natural predators in removing individual animals from the gene pool. Such rules do nothing to thwart the actions of developers and extraction industries that remove countless animals incidentally via habitat destruction. Federal regulations tend to offer somewhat more protection from habitat degradation but even that appears to be under threat by proposals of the current federal administration. Murphy also seems to imply that the plight (real or imagined) of some of the state’s more “popular” T&E species are due more to the activities of “collectors” than to development, mining, and even climate change.

Strangely, the book lacks a table listing the state’s Threatened/Endangered species. However, this is usually mentioned in the individual species accounts for those taxa although, remarkably, the status of at least two of the most iconic T/E species (the Gila Monster [Heloderma suspectrum] and the Ornate Box Turtle [Terrepene ornata]) is nowhere mentioned.

Keys – Murphy has dispensed with dichotomous identification keys, which, given the limited geographic scope of this work, is thoroughly justified and in keeping with most other recent state guides.

Plates – There could have been a separate plate section printed on a different, glossy stock, which would have improved the appearance of the included photos. Instead, the author has opted to place the numerous color photos within each species account, which most likely enhances their value for identification.

Maps – The range maps are attractively presented over a colored base map highlighting the major topographical features of the state. County boundaries are superimposed over the base map, which aid in more precisely determining localities. Individual collection records are represented via colored dots, which seem a bit larger than necessary. In the few cases where more than one subspecies is included on a map, each is indicated by different-colored dots. The author states that the specimen localities plotted were primarily obtained from two online databases (Vertnet and GBIF [Global Biodiversity Information Facility]), with some from other published sources, and from personal observations. Nevertheless, these maps do not appear to present a complete depiction of the ranges of many species. The shaded, dotless maps employed by Brennan and Holycross (op. cit.) provide a better representation of the actual distribution of most species (actually, a combination of both methods, as used by Werler and Dixon [2000], may be the best solution). Additionally, there appears to be some confusion regarding localities for some species that have been taxonomically reshuffled recently (e.g., the Leopard Frog complex). Some recent range extensions appearing in Herpetological Review also seem to have been overlooked.

Diagnostic Drawings – A series of six full-page appendices located at the end of the book contains numerous diagnostic drawings of various morphological features, scale arrangements, and measurement standards. Most of these drawings are modified from those of other authors and some would have benefitted from being placed within the portion of the text dealing with the groups to which they refer (e.g., Appendix 2: Amphibian nomenclature; Appendix 5: Horn arrangement among the horned lizards).

Photos – Each species account has at least one color photo of the taxon; some of the more variable types have more. Many of the photos are by the author himself supplemented with the work of sixteen additional photographers. Each photo is credited to its photographer via his/her initials at the bottom margin.

Taxonomy – Murphy has enthusiastically accepted virtually every recent taxonomic proposal to come down the pike, including many that are regarded as controversial (usually without mentioning any disputation). Accordingly, he generally adopts a condescending attitude toward subspecies, which he says “. . . may be destined to become full species, [while] others will fade into history. They can be confusing and are human constructs, not necessarily natural units, but they are important because they are frequently used as units for conservation.” Of course, every rank on the taxonomic scale, with the possible exception of the species, is an arbitrary human construct, and, given the actions of contemporary taxonomists, I am beginning to wonder about species! Consequently, only those subspecies temporarily retained by Crother (ed., 2017) are mentioned cursorily within the species accounts. 

Bottom Line – As suggested by its subtitle, the natural history update function of this book is perhaps more its intended function than that of a field guide, although it achieves both goals equally well. The general reader, as well as the enthusiast, is well-served by an occasional synopsis of recent discoveries in the field that would otherwise remain hidden within esoteric journals ensconced deep within the bowels of university libraries. Such summaries can direct the efforts of serious researchers, saving them considerable time in the process. Good synopses, however, must necessarily be well-referenced and, even though this book contains at least 250 literature citations, some significant omissions were easily discovered (e.g., Fowlie’s similarly self-published 1965 Snakes of Arizona). Overall, however, Murphy’s work is a welcome addition to the herpetological literature of one of the more remarkable states of the American southwest.

John C. Murphy is a retired science teacher and a former resident of the Chicago area where he had a long relationship with the Field Museum of Natural History. He now resides in Arizona near Tucson. His other books include Tales of Giant Snakes; Amphibians and Reptiles of Trinidad and Tobago; Homalopsid Snakes: Evolution in the Mud; Secrets of the Snake Charmer: Snakes in the 21st Century; and A Field Guide to the Amphibians & Reptiles of Trinidad & Tobago. Other reviews of this book are by Fantuzzi (2018) and Sullivan (2019).

Addendum – As I was completing this review I became aware that both Amazon and the publisher/printer were listing a second edition of this book with slightly different front and back covers. The publisher’s Square Peg Bookshop currently lists only the second edition while Amazon continues to list both editions as of this writing. The second edition also has new ISBN numbers: Hardcover - 13: 978-1645165545 ($59.95); Soft Cover - 10: 164516554X ($38.95). Each version of the new edition is now more costly than the first edition; the hardcover version significantly so. The review above refers to the first edition.

The Square Peg website, however, offers a “look inside” preview of the second edition. Scanning this provides a glimpse of the relatively minor changes incorporated in the newer edition. Some recent taxonomic proposals are accepted (e.g., the lumping of the Shovel-nosed Snakes [Chionactis] and the Sand Snakes [Chilomeniscus] into the Ground Snake genus [Sonora]; once again placing all whipsnakes into the genus Masticophis; and the adoption of a forthcoming proposal to return the northernmost populations of the Vine Snake to Oxybelis microphthalmus). Also added are several new short essays related to recent discoveries, such as “Are there any non-venomous snakes?” and “Rattlesnakes as Seed Dispersal Agents.”

Literature Cited

Brennan, T.C., and A. T. Holycross. 2006. A Field Guide to Amphibians and Reptiles in Arizona. Arizona Game and Fish Department. 150pp.

Crother, B. I. (ed.). 2017. Scientific and Standard English Names of Amphibians and Reptiles of North America North of Mexico, with Comments Regarding Confidence in Our Understanding pp. 1–102. SSAR Herpetological Circular 43.

Fantuzzi, J.A. 2018. “Book Review. Reptiles and Am­phibians of Arizona, A Natural History and Field Guide.” Sonoran Herpetologist 31(4):72-74.

Fowlie, J.A. 1965. The Snakes of Arizona. Azul Quinta Press, Fallbrook, California.

Powell, R., R. Conant, and J. T. Collins. 2016. Peterson Field Guide to Reptiles and Amphibians of Eastern and Central North America, Fourth Edition. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

Sullivan, B. K. 2019. “Book Review. Reptiles and Am­phibians of Arizona, A Natural History and Field Guide.” Herpetological Review 50(1): 173-175.

Werler, J.E. and J.R. Dixon. 2000. Texas Snakes. Identification, distribution, and natural history.  Austin: University of Texas Press. 

 

[This review first appeared in the Fall 2019 issue of the SWCHR Bulletin]