I had gone to that spotted turtle site the day before, expecting to
find open water and perhaps the first turtle. But despite (or perhaps
because of ?) the essentially snowless winter, the habitat was still
locked in ice, an ice-hold strong enough for me to walk on. Most years
I head out for my first investigation by walking on a logging road
used as a snowmobile trail, then proceed to the alder carr on
snowshoes. This year I could drive in part way, then walk open ground
out to that destination. The next day, after a showery morning broke
to full sun and a very warm afternoon, in the low to mid sixties, I
went to the east branch of the brook confluence that is the setting of
my primary (almost exclusive, in recent years) wood turtle focus. I
knew the ice would not yet have yielded in the alder swamp. The stream
was open; it may not have frozen over at all this past mild winter;
and the stream banks were free of ice and snow. beavers had
constructed a great new dam and lodge at the downstream end of this
brook, not far upstream from its confluence with the west branch. I
have only found a few wood turtles to hibernate in this lower reach, a
nearly level run with slower flow and more sedimentation than the
upper brook. Now, with a vastly broadened and deepened watercourse
subject to even more sedimentation I did not expect to see a turtle
that had been overwintering here. Former stream edgings, along which I
did find some on occasion, were in fact now inundated.

As I made my way upstream – not easily done, in view of the the
effects of the beavers’ alteration of the flood regime – I expected to
see a basking wood turtle at any turn. But it was not until I reached
the last niche in which I thought I might find one that I had my
solitary sighting of the day. This was where some years ago a large
wind-thrown red maple, uprooted from its bankhold on the very edge of
the brook, had crashed into riparian thickets dominated by alder and
silky dogwood. I have often found wood turtles taking advantage of the
cover provided by such wind-thrown trees, an interesting ecological
convergence of flowing stream dynamics, wind, riparian trees and
shrubs, and wood turtles (as well as other animal life). Another
subject in itself, as is everything out here, in one way or another…
the complexities, interrelationships, balances that humans continually
unbalance.

Typical of wood turtles – especially young ones, it seems to me – this
one was up on a rafting of flood-drifted small branches (more
ecology), several inches off the substrate, which was yet hard with
ice. And there was an ice sheet less a than meter away from the little
turtle’s solarium. I have read that substrates influence the body
temperature of turtles more than direct sun, and certainly it would be
hard for one to achieve a heat-gain with a plastron resting on
something close to ice pack. I have on occasion found three or four
wood turtles in basking sites associated with the fallen, several-
trunked red maple. Some strips of bark along on trunk section are
viable, and have sent up a line of sapling-high branches-become-trees,
near their time of flowering. One long-time familiar adult female has
appeared in this massive tangle at emergence from hibernation in many
springs.

Following the finding of this first turtle, as is frequently the case,
the weather turned overcast and chill, even cold, for four days. Then
a dramatic shift from late winter to midsummer erupted, and lasted for
five days, with a series of four (five?) days in a row that
established new high-temperature records for the dates in the Concord
area, days in the low eighties to eighty-four degrees, as I recall.
This brought the first spotted turtles out of hibernation in the Alder
Carr, more wood turtles along the brook, (these will be the subject of
my next entry), and turtles everywhere no doubt, still so early. And
then, as it is with March (and capricious April has its mood swings as
well, of course), things wheeled back in the direction of late winter.
I have had eight indoor days now, badly needed for matters in my
Arbeitzimmer; and there will be a couple more before there is renewed
turtle danger. *** I have not advertised this site, as it has been so
long dormant, and my past track record has been anything but one of
daily breaking news (but this is largely turtle business, after all).
And although I am resolved (again) to do better with consistency et.
al. in making entries as the season goes along, I am aware of how hard
it is to break established patterns, and may well continue with rather
lengthy postings at too widely separated intervals. But I would
appreciate anyone stumbling upon this journal site and finding it of
interest passing it along to anyone else who they might find it
interesting to read. Thanks. Turtles, David

On the middle day of the three, 27 September, I braced myself against
alders, standing mid-thigh deep in the mud, sunken leaves, and water
(the latter generally 8″ to a foot deep), with a spray of reed canary
grass in front of me. I could see into ten feet or so of channels to
my left and right and, straight ahead. Not many sites in this terrain
of the spotted turtles allow such an extended vista. A turtle-watch
in autumn is quite different from a hawk-watch. I had determined this
to be my final stake-out of the visit; but that decision is frequently
re-visited before actual departure. For twenty one minutes, nothing
but the slow, mesmerizing drift of clear water, and occasional, very
occasional, flickers of movement on the surface caused by water
striders or backswimmers – there is little visible invertebrate life
in this habitat element. I see little evidence of a food chain that
would support the spotted turtles during their active season – they
come here for the winter, and as soon as things warm up enough at
thaw, move outward to far richer feeding grounds, such as the Swale.
Such habitats also serve as their mating grounds. Then, on that twenty
first minute, a sudden brief trembling of the surface of the channel
directly ahead of me. Very brief indeed, but it was certainly a
movement caused by a turtle, at the farthest extent visible to me.
And in this sector of the Far End I have only seen spotted turtles.
One can only be patient, motionless, and hope for a clearer sighting,
a better bearing on the turtle’s precise location and movement, and
hopefully a closer approach by the turtle. And in this sector of the
Far End I have only seen spotted turtles.

Then came a flash of yellow spots, black shell, in a thin shaft of
sunlight penetrating the channel – the water is clear, but is seen as
black almost everywhere but where the sun strikes into it. I knew any
sighting would be stunning – it has always been for me – and under
these seasonal ambient and habitat conditions the rush is especially
intense. And it is nothing less than a rush, even after six decades of
experiencing it. To heighten the already heightened, my fleeting
vision of the turtle indicated that it was a juvenile, or subadult.
With spotted turtles, this has been the rarest of the rare. I am
certain that some hatchlings orient here from nearby sparse shoulders
of a hayfield, where several spotted turtles nest each year, that some
niches within this niche serves a nursery role for the species. I have
made dedicated searches for hatchlings and juveniles where the
microhabitat would appear to favor them, or they favor it; my one find
being a three year old, in August several years ago.

The debate at this point is whether to make a rush to where the turtle
appears to be, and risk his disappearance, which can occur all but
instantaneously in this habitat – selected largely for that reason, or
wait for that closer approach, better bearing. Then came more
movements on the surface, more rapid – the turtle could have seen me
and was perhaps taking flight. I tracked the surface disturbance with
my eyes, trying to compute where the turtle was heading, and made my
move. Not easily done in this compressed but difficult and spotted-
turtle-favoring world: my feet become almost rooted in the mud when I
am in one place so long, the criss-crossing of alder branches and
soft, sinking substrate constrain forward, or backward or sideward
advances. Three awkward strides brought me to within reach of where I
thought the turtle was. A glimpse of the little spotted shell proved
my determination wrong – the turtle had shifted to the right side of
the channel, not the left… the channel is only a foot wide, but that
narrow margin, little distance, is enough to cause me to come up empty
handed. But with that one more vision I thrust blindly to the re-
adjusted site and felt my hand come in contact with and close over the
shell of a splendid five year old spotted turtle.

I documented the turtle in my notebook, made tiny identifying notches,
and set him on the edge of an alder mound at the capture site. He was
in the water and out if sight in what seemed a nannosecond. It is not
likely I will see this one again in this dense, ultra-concealing
habitat. But perhaps in five years or so, if I am yet able to be at my
swampwalking, and the young turtle begins the migratory ways of his
kind, I will find him in the Swale.
Or (remotely) possibly here again. In any case, I marked the location
with a strip of surveyor’s tape with “5 y.o. Cg. 27 Sept 2011″. The
blaze tape is not easily discernible among lingering leaves of red
maple saplings and the scarlet winterberries; but when I return in
spring for those beginning of the season searches and vigils, it will
be evident in the gray maze of the branches and let me recognize this
precise place. I returned the day after this signal finding to repeat
my search regimen – no turtle seen. Unless there is a several-day
truly mild spell (temperatures in upper 60s and 70s) it is not likely
I will come back here until thaw, when I will likely have to make my
way on snowshoes and wear neoprene, not gore-tex, waders.
* * * * *

In early October the Team of Four from Tufts U., Molly, Laura, Jeff,
and Jay returned to complete video-recording me for a documentary
they will enter in an Environmental Film Festival at Tufts (by
coincidence, one of my alma maters, along with the School of the
Boston Museum of Fine Arts). They were responsive, stimulating,
thoughtful, insightful, terrific to work with. They want to do a
piece on wetland preservation vs. development issues, and want to have
me serve as the main voice. This was an honor for me and another
opportunity for me to put forth the turtle Party Line, the main, if
not sole, mantra of which is the call to go beyond stewardship and
even conservation to preservation, preservation as in true ecological
sanctuary, “exempt from publik haunt” (my oft-repeated quote from
Shakespeare), independent of human service. This call is leitmotif of
FOLLLOWING THE WATER, my last book, which has brought me responses
from people who find it too sad to read, and others who feel I am
declaring their conservation work to be in vain. As I state in the
book, I do value such efforts, and recognize the sacrifice and hard
work involved in conservation initiatives, but have to say I see a
grievous lack of places that are established for ecosystems and
biodiversity first and foremost, as opposed to becoming human theme
parks, playgrounds. This is a theme I may address in winter writings
here. I begin to turn to my “indoor season” of drawing and painting,
writing, and language study. I will likely make a few more streambank
searches for late-season wood turtle sightings, but I am now almost
exclusively in my east and west Arbeitzimmer, workrooms of the above
mentioned winter pursuits.

By mid-September the little salamander had developed enough to reveal
itself as all but certainly a Jefferson salamander. It was overall a
grayish color, not very dark, and had a dusting of minute, barely
discernible spots lining the very edge of its ventral surface. It
still had gill fringes, and only very tiny legs had appeared. Although
I now had no doubt as to the species that had committed those egg
masses at thaw, I wanted to return to the pool to see if larvae were
still present and if we could find one even farther along towards
metamorphosis. The pool is surrounded by rocky outcrop and dense
hemlocks and is deeply shaded. It was virtually impossible to see into
the dark water except where slender shafts of sunlight penetrated it.
We waded in and stood watch at these narrow, slowly shifting beacons.
Finally Michael saw a larval salamander surface for a bit of air and
descend, an action so swift in passing that he did not have a chance
to attempt to net it. At least we knew that they were still in the
pool; I had expected as much as the shaded water was still quite chill
and and deep, and metamorphosis would likely be a comparatively
lengthy process. We waited some time, without any further sightings. I
decided to make random sweeps through the thick sunken leaf litter,
and on my second trial I netted a larval salamander that was
indisputably a Jefferson. It still bore gill fringes, though they had
diminished, and the larvae were transitioning to air-breathing. I hope
to return to this pool at breeding time next year to see of I can get
a feeling for how numerous the adults are here. I have found pools
with Jefferson salamander breeding in this region, but numbers of
adults ranged from half a dozen to eight – quite a contrast to the
numbers of spotted salamanders in the same and neighboring pools. (In
SWAMPWALKER’S JOURNAL I describe a quite small pool that supports
breeding by both salamander species, as well as wood frogs, and how
they select different parts of this very restricted breeding habitat
for their egg deposition.) It is also of interest that there appears
to be little or no breeding by spotted salamander in this vernal pool,
something I’d like to get a more certain documentation of.

In recent weeks, as I have continued my daily juggling of drawing,
writing, language pursuits, life in general, and time in turtle
places, I have concentrated on sojourns in my long-familiar wood
turtle habitats. I have not come upon any more hatchlings – the time
of their nest-to-water journeys is long past now, unless there is an
extraordinary case (and one never knows). I have found no further
evidence of hatching and believe that the exit hole I found was the
only successful nest of the season. This leads me to the conclusion
that the second hatchling I found, on the journey, came from that same
nest, in which I found the first hatchling still lodged in the nest
chamber. I will devote myself to one final thorough search of all
known nesting niches one more time before snow falls, to see if I
might find another exit hole – they keep their form into winter and
even beyond, and can provide hard evidence of successful nests.
Eggshells of pipped or failed eggs, and any hatchlings who died in the
nest, provide clutch sizes and the survival figures for the nest.

In the main I am making searches along the ecotones between tree lines
and mown hayfield, and interior alder swamp, etc., habitats for
terrestrial wood turtles. Some may well have begun to relocate closer
to the banks of the two brooks in which they will overwinter, and even
entered the brooks themselves; but there are wood turtles yet keeping
to terrestrial niches.I returned from a search along one of the highly-
favored swaths of dense grass, sedge, forb, and shrub between the tree
line and the far end of the hayfield just before sitting down to this
writing. Two days of rain and drizzle, and warm, humid – steamy – air
preceded today, which became all the more rain-forest-like with a
thinning of the cloud cover and occasional brief appearances of
sunlight. Such a high-summer spell in early, or even later, autumn,
seems to be something I can count on in this region… maybe a Latin
American summer before an Indian summer. Such a weather pattern can
delude me; I need to glance at the calendar and remind myself of the
season’s overall, inevitable progress. I wanted to have a wood turtle
encounter, and was favored with one. Another feature of the tropical
bearing of the day was a steady, numerous accompaniment of mosquitoes.
There has been a resurgence of them in the northeast following the
deluges of hurricane/tropical storm Irene and subsequent remnants of
tropical storms. Mosquitoes are more of an affliction now than they
have been at any previous time in the year. My reward was finding a
long-familiar female who was an adult when I first came upon her and
is no doubt an older turtle, at least in her mid-forties. She has a
distinct configuration of her carapace at the right shoulder area,
with marginals sweeping up and outward, and what appears to be a long-
healed narrow gash penetrating to the edge of the seam of her first
and second pleurals. It is likely that this is the result of an injury
caused by haymowing equipment, something I have noted with a fair
number of wood turtles here. And for reasons that escape me, such
mechanical wounds seem all but invariably to occur at that right
shoulder area and slanting across the carapace and down toward the
posterior end.
She has intact limbs, only a modest tail-nip, and is one of those
nesting matriarchs of the colony.

On the 10th of September, following a chill night with temperatures in
the low forties, I went out as the sun appeared and reached favored
terrestrial niches of the wood turtles to see who I might find. This
is generally a rewarding strategy as the turtles move to where they
can warm up after such a night, so I time the sun and search the
places where it first strikes the earth. One such niche is a small
corner of dense Bromus grass that is left uncut in the haying. In
times past I have found turtles here regularly at certain times in the
active season, including high summer. There is a narrow border of
sweetfern, the second-growth forest with a dense canopy and no
understory, an open floor that wood turtles eschew, that descends a
long steep slope to the brook. I found a familiar 12-14 year old
female at the very edge of the dense grass, well-hidden, but receiving
the sun fully on her shell. At first I was not sure why there was but
one identifying notch on the carapace of a turtle this young, but then
I noticed that she had five left pleural scutes instead of the normal
four. That anomaly and the one notch would be enough to identify her.
Eleven days and half an hour later, on a morning following a narrow
escape from frost as the temperature fell to 34 degrees, I found her
in the exact same spot, again. The sun’s rays had recently reached it.
Once the current “Green Mansions” weather pattern (as I sometimes
think of such a spell, recalling my readings of William Henry Hudson’s
book of that title in my adolescence) exits, my wood-turtle search
strategy will rely heavily on looking into such niches shortly after
the sun has reached them, following a frosty night, or chill, dark
rainy spell. I will continue with some recent-past wood turtle
observations soon-ish.

I have been contacted by a group of four students from Tufts
University (my alma mater, along with the Boston Museum School of Fine
Arts) who want to produce a documentary on wetland preservation –
development issues and want me to be the main voice. Their intent is
to enter their production in an environmental film festival to be held
at Tufts, I think in the spring. I agreed to do this. They came a week
ago today to do a preliminary filming of me walking and talking
(mostly talking) in a couple of my historic wetland habitats. They
will return in a week for additional filming. I will write more about
this project next time. bis dann, David

I also wanted to add that as I left the swale after finding that
spotted turtle of 14 July, driving out the logging road, I saw a wood
turtle crossing that dirt road. I have found wood turtles in this area
from time to time over the years, but sightings in this area are very
infrequent. The reach of the permanent stream that flows through this
part of the Digs is for some distance more suited to painted and
snapping, and occasional spotted and Blandings turtles, than wood
turtles. Due to the rather level lay of the land and beaver activity,
it is more a marshy stream, with sediments predominant; rather than
the scoured, sandy, gravelly bottom of a moderate gradient favored by
wood turtles. (I often refer to the overlap in stream and river
habitat of wood turtles with that of wild brook trout.) This was a new-
to-me 14 year old female who had recently been attacked. Her front
legs had wounds at the joints (fortunately the predator was not able
to work her legs out of her shell and eat them); and her tail was
badly chewed right to the cloacal opening. These will heal. It is
possible that a dog had discovered her, as there is a house nearby,
one built on what was formerly a turtle-nesting site (”Snapping Turtle
Knoll” in Year OF THE TURTLE). Or it may have been a natural predator.

On 2 August I found a far less fortunate wood turtle in the main area
in which I have observed them. A long-familiar female, one of the
oldest of her colony I suspect, had been hit by mowing equipment
during the last haying. I could piece the four sections of her
carapace together for identification; the fragments of her plastron
were “exceedingly smooth-worn”, as I have described her in past
notebooks. She was one of a dozen or so females who seem to do all the
egg-laying, one of those wood, spotted, or Blanding’s turtles turtles
l think of as a matriarch of the population. She has been nesting over
the 24 seasons I have been making observations here; doubtless she had
nested for some years before i first recorded her, and doubtless she
would have continued for some decades more were it not for this
casualty. She was right at the border of the mown field and the narrow
strip, ranging from 1 – 3 meters in width generally, between the field
and the tree line of the wooded ridge above the brook. The wood
turtles here are in the main well-distanced from a paved road, but
different kinds of road kill can happen, and every such fatality,
particularly of a breeding-status female, is a great loss to the colony.

I continued wood turtle searches along these edge habitats, or
ecotones in following weeks, finding a number of them. On the 23rd of
August I took up my annual walking of the dusty trails of the
hatchling wood turtles. Perhaps “sandy trails” would be accurate, but
it is typically a dry and rather dusty time of year (I describe this
in detail in “A Drink Along the Way” in FOLLOWING THE WATER). This is
one of the most compelling times of my seasonal rounds with the
turtles. I set out a bit later than usual – wood turtles generally
hatch earlier than the other species in this region, beginning around
mid-August (earlier, on occasion) and often ending before the first of
September. One factor in my irresolution this season was that nest
predation was extremely heavy at nesting time. During that period I
sadly documented 13 nests that had been taken by predators, and it
seemed quite possible, if not likely, that one had been spared. This
made the odds quite prohibitive that I would have even one of those
encounters along the trail with a nest-to-water journeying hatchling.
But again, this is for me a most compelling moment in the season of
the turtles, one that draws me back in spite of all odds, reluctances
and discouragements of various kinds, etc. And extremely slender odds
of finding are a constant of so many turtle searchings – searchings in
general. I saw what looked like the possible exit hole of a nest from
which hatchlings had successfully emerged. But it wasn’t as clear as
is usually the case, and I saw fine extracted sand around the vague
rim of the depression in the sand. If turtles dig out, all sand or
earth falls back in behind them – they dig out, all others, from
exploring predators to wasps burying the prey with which they deposit
their eggs, dig in, scattering very small to sizable mounds of sand
beyond the excavation. I walked on.

The next day I looked at the small depression again. I looked more
closely. The fine sand around the rim had actually been removed by
ants who had had infinitesimally small holes right beside it. I knelt
down, reading the sand far more carefully, clearly – suddenly I felt
all but positive that this was a somewhat obscured exit hole. I dug
in, quickly encountering five wood turtle eggs that had failed to
develop, and then felt a hatchling who was still in the chamber. The
hatchling was alive. Beneath him I found the shells of five eggs that
had been pipped. One belonged to one not yet ready, for whatever
reason, to leave the nest. Four siblings had broken free of their
eggshells, dug out, and taken up their nest-to-water journeys.

I brushed sand away from the little turtle I had been so lucky to
find… odds, luck… and of course the reality that one never knows,
one must simply go and look. And look again… and again. Once again,
this comes to me so often, I spoke that quote of Louis Pasteur’s, “In
the field of observation, chance favors only the prepared mind.” My
mind should have been far better prepared the day before; luck gave me
another chance. I had reason to believe that this might be my
hatchling wood turtle for the year. But two day later as I stopped my
car along the hayfield road, where there is some sparse grass in the
shallow ruts, and parts of the sand road are in the shadow of a tall
stand of white pines, as I have over the years found hatchlings
wandering right along that road at mid-day, and they would be very
hard to see here. So I get out and look ahead before proceeding, and
then backing in to where I leave my swamp car in the great shadow.
Just a few steps ahead I met one. This has happened often enough over
my history here that I am led to believe that hatchling wood turtles
on nest-to-water journeys at mid-day, when it can be as hot as any
desert out on the sunlit sand, orient toward the shade cast by the
white pines that stand on a ridge above the brook they are seeking.

I will have to leave my account of Jefferson salamanders until my next
posting. Hasta entonces.

Following that my turtle time centered on wood turtles, until the wild
recharge of the Swale and other seasonal wetland haunts of the spotted
turtles by the tropical storm that hurricane Irene had become upon
reaching this area. Such rain events have on occasion in the past
spurred a return of at least some spotted turtles to the Swale, and
initiated a period of activity in the shrub swamps to which they
return at summer’s ending for their overwintering. The Swale was
filled to the brim and over the brim – always wonderful to see – but I
found no sign of spotted turtles there. I went on to the Great Swale,
wondering if I might see one there. This is a central setting for YEAR
OF THE TURTLE, and another former epicenter for the spotted turtles.
But, to put it briefly, turtle sightings there have declined as plant
succession has advanced over the past two decades, to the point that I
rarely make searches here, even at the time of emergence from
hibernation. Another significant factor in my not coming here but a
couple of times a year is that the near-impenetrable tangles
vegetation have become flat-out impenetrable. As described in TURTLE
and other writings, moving through this wetland is an all-body
experience. This was arduous even ten years ago, before the
encroaching sedges, alders, red maple saplings, et. al. had taken over
all but completely – and I was that much younger. The channels and
pockets and pools in which I found so many spotted turtles in those
earlier years are essentially untraceable now; I believe they are
overwhelmingly unnavigable even for the turtles. There is virtually
nowhere that I can look into the water (this is still a seasonal flood
compartment, one of those natural flood control acreages that have
been lost to human alteration of the wetlandscape); nowhere I might
possibly see the head of a turtle above the surface. Nor could I
detect turtle movements here, were there turtles present. I struggled
mightily, making little but exhausting progress, remembering former
times here. I had to turn back, thinking it might still be possible to
search and find here at thaw, when at least the new growth had not yet
begun. But so much is now woody tangles and persistent masses of
herbaceous sedges and ferns, that I have great doubts about any future
expeditions here.

On to the Far End of the Great Alder Carr, the downflow end of this
large Great Swale-Great Alder Carr wetland depression in the
landscape. It is here that I have come to find spotted turtles at
emergence from overwintering in recent years. It is difficult enough,
though not as challenging to make my way through as the Great Swale
was even when I first discovered it. There are wadeable/navigable
channels and pools; it is possible to sight and capture spotted
turtles here. And, of great import, there are turtles here. but the
water was deep, by spotted turtle habitat parameters, that is to say
close to waist deep; and the season’s rampant growth, primarily of
royal fern on shrub mounds, made even places I could wade through
close to unsearchable. I doubted that with the water depth, and
stronger sweep of floodwater through the compartment, which usually
has a very low, steady drift until even that falls away at the time of
low water, would favor activity by the turtles i sought. as is my
custom, my postings on this journal site are too far apart and get
into rather long accounts. I will stop here for now and try to cover
what is sketched out in my heading before long. To be continued…

Not wishing to cause any further disturbance this nesting season, I
did not make searches for turtles during the latter part of the
activity. I was not able to locate the nest site of the east brook
turtle; what I had felt all but certain was a completed nest proved to
be a decoy. I have on occasions found nests dug and covered but
containing no eggs. I made a day search of all known nesting areas
when I felt nesting had just been completed and found that seven of
the eight known nests had been dug up by predators – so early in the
going. Not unusual, the percentage of nests taken, or the immediacy of
the predation. Last season I did not search the nesting areas – as is
the apparent norm for wood turtles, the same sites are used year after
year – until it was time for the emergence of hatchlings. A few days
into this quest I began to find nests dug up by predators, until in
all seven out of eight nests I was able to locate had been taken.
Unfortunately these contained hatchlings on the verge of pipping and
leaving the nest, or even out of their eggshells and ready to dig out.
The one successful nest launched seven hatchlings out of seven eggs.
The scenario of that season, and what is portended for this, is of low
to zero hatchling survival. This made, and will make again this year,
my mid-August into September wanderings during which I look to
encounter hatchlings on their nest-to water journeys (one of the key
times in my year of the turtle, as described in “Nest to Water
Journey” in SWAMPWALKER’S JOURNAL and “A Drink Along the way” in
FOLLOWING THE WATER…), an all but certain futile exercise-cum-
ritual. There was one exceptional year in which I had not documented
nesting at all, but dedicated days to repeated roamings of the nesting
areas and surrounding terrain that I know hatchlings to traverse, day
after day, and in the end had found 11 exit holes of successful nests
and encountered 49 free-range hatchlings. I even came upon five nests
that were in the process of hatching out. I did not find a single nest
that had been dug up. The many hours of crisscrossing this habitat
were surely richly rewarded. There have been years of extremely
limited predation, and years like the past two. I can only hope that
whatever dynamic is at work (I cannot presume to offer a theory)
continues to be cyclical. An annual trend of the degree of nest loss
indicated by this season and last would certainly downgrade the
remarkable recruitment of young into the colony that has been the
standard over my observations here since 1986. I am as puzzled by the
predators as by the coevolutionary forces that may be at play in this
of turtle nesting. Although the wood turtles nest in bare soft sand, I
rarely see footprints I can positively identify. What I do make out
suggests skunks.

I made only two dawn searches for spotted turtles who might have
nested through the night (I describe this, in some past years of data-
gathering a much more dedicated proposition, in “Ariadne Nesting”, in
SELF PORTRAIT WTH TURTLES). I found none in the process. What I did
find my first time out was a freshly depredated Blanding’s turtle
nest, in an area favored by spotted turtles, but used at times by
painted turtles and one or two snapping turtles as well. And this was
in a place far removed from any in which I had ever found any sign of
nesting by Blanding’s turtles. Fourteen eggs were eaten; the clutch
size and the shape and color of the eggshells positively identified
the species of the nester. It was not easy to look at this sunrise
scene. This species is evidently present in very low numbers in the
greater ecology, broader landscape, included in what I call “the Digs”
and well beyond. I thought again of the coevolutionary forces and time
involved in this matter of Blanding’s turtles being here. The turtle
who made this ill-fated nest had likely taken twenty years to reach
breeding age. Then she began to make her long nesting sojourns, dug
her nest and committed her eggs. I thought of the one year of this
nest, that is the time from last nesting season through the activity
of summer and autumn, the long hibernation and finally the emergence
for another round of the seasons, courtship and mating, and then the
process of nesting and the journey back to her resident wetland. All
of this undone in a matter of minutes, quite likely the night of her
nesting. As I counted the eggshells I thought of the entire year that
must pass, and all that is incumbent on this matriarch of her kind,
before she has another chance to entrust a clutch of eggs to a nest.
Her nesting history here may cover six decades or more, and out of
those how many hatchlings might be generated… and out of those, how
many might live the twenty years to begin to take a place among the
breeding adults of the population? These thoughts deepened as on my
second daybreak search I found what looked like another Blanding’s
turtle nest that had been dug up. The site was a likely one, the
eggshells looked right for the species, but the clutch size of five
eggs caused some doubt, and I wondered if it could have been a painted
turtle’s nest. However, clutch size ranges from 3 to 22 in this
species, and this could have been the work of a first-time nester.
Several days later I went to a site in which a Blanding’s turtle has
nested over the years. I had been hoping to find a completed nest,
checking every day to see if there any signs to indicate nesting. I
had thoughts of relocating a nest if I found one, to hatch out in my
back field. I rarely and reluctantly do this – no doubt all the dug-up
nests I was seeing was influencing me. On my mid-day look-in, I found
a nest that had been taken: 16 eggs.

There is a Blanding’s turtle presence here. All indications are that
it is limited, but there is a presence. My belief that this will
persist as long as the habitat remains intact and extensive was shaken
by these observations. But I am seeing only who knows what fraction of
the presence and signs of its persistence. And my time, for all the
artist-naturalist’s wandering and specific field documentation I have
spent, dedicated, here, is of course a snapshot in the time of this
species in this ecosystem, whose persistence itself – as with
ecosystems globally – is by no means assured.

I found several dug-up nests in sites in which spotted turtles have
nested historically; the clutch sizes of three and four, size and
shape of the eggshells, suggested they were of this species. Among
eggshells at one site I found an intact egg. This happens sometimes,
though rarely. That one egg I have transferred to my back field and
screened against predators.

* * * * * *

Two weeks or so ago I had a most interesting interview, by swamp and
in our gallery, with Mary Helen Miller, a writer for the Christian
Science Monitor, who is writing a piece on me for the newspaper’s
weekly magazine. This for a column entitled “People Who Make
Difference”. As I told her, I wish I could make the difference I would
like to make, that of getting people to move beyond stewardship and
even conservation to preservation.
This is something I address in all of my talks, and in my books. Be
that as it may, I am greatly pleased, and honored, to be a subject of
this theme. Our extended talk was a pleasure for me – I am fortunate
to have such an insightful and skilled interviewer/writer take me on
as a subject. This week I had another fine session, this with
photojournalist Ann Hermes, who came to take an “environmental
portrait” of me for the article, this by the key spotted turtle vernal
pool habitat that has been a center of my years of the turtle in the
Digs. Ann asked if I might have a turtle for the portrait, and as
spotted turtles are infinitely more photogenic than I, I was happy to
try to have one in hand for the occasion. The afternoon before our
appointment I went into this wetland, which, owing to the abundant
rains around a couple of hot and dry spells this spring into summer,
is nearly at the full flood level of thaw. Last year, spring and
summer were marked by drought, and this seasonal wetland was dried up
by the end of May. The spotted turtles were of course long gone. But I
knew there would be at least some here yet, and so made a wading
search. The degree-of-difficulty of seeing one, much less getting one
in hand – as often described in my writings – was very high. Water
depths of eighteen inches generally, and rampant emergent and
submersed vegetation made it very much “advantage turtle”. I had one
sighting of a male with his head up, and then another of turtle
movements briefly in emergent reed canarygrass; but these were turtles
quick to vanish before I could get near them. But then, once again,
the turtle gods were very good to me. I saw unmistakable jostlings in
a dense emergent patch of meadowsweet: the movements (slight, brief)
of a turtle, and very likely a spotted turtle. I approached, waited,
saw another slight movement, could not really get a bearing on a
precise location, but knew I had to make a stab at catching the turtle
who was in there somewhere. I lunged with both hands. They sank over a
foot in the shrubby submarine tangles and in the near-undecipherable
melange I felt my left hand come down on a turtle shell. I pinned the
turtle, struggled myself into a position in which I could manage to
get myself upright, still gripping the unlucky turtle. But I was very
lucky indeed, for I held not only a spotted turtle, but one I had
never seen before, a 9 or 10 year old who appeared to be a male just
beginning to take on the secondary sexual characteristics of his kind:
darkening (somewhat) face, slightly indented plastron, and cloacal
opening just beyond the outer edge of his carapace. He was a brilliant
specimen, head and shell richly adorned with large and very bright
yellow spots, and more spots on his legs and tail than I have ever
seen on a spotted turtle of any age… legs and tail sharply reminded
me of a spotted salamander.

I went on to make two more captures, one of a five or so year old
snapping turtle and then an adult female spotted turtle. She was
marked number 10; goes back a long way in my notebooks, perhaps 25
years. When did I last see her?

This has turned into quite an epistle. Of Star Island, I will say for
now that my appearance there as visiting faculty for Southern
University of NH, at a writer’s conference, was absolutely terrific in
every way. I am indebted to Diane Les Becquets, Head of the Master’s
Writing Program, Rick Carey, Merle Drown, other faculty and some 43
grad students for a deeply rewarding and inspiring occasion, about
which I will write next time.

On the 29th of April, two days after the encounter with “Bright
Yellow” that I detailed in my last post, I observed a pair of spotted
turtles engaged in the courtship chase I describe in YEAR OF THE
TURTLE. (A print of the watercolor I produced to illustrate this
elaborate ceremony – and other turtle art prints – is available via www.carrollstudiogallery.com
; see also my artist’s page at www.Lake-Sunapee-Living.com; and coming
soon: www.davidcarrollturtleart.com) But of course the season moves
along too quickly to truly follow – there is joy and anguish in trying
to keep up with it all, even if there were nothing else in life to do
- and now it is nesting time.
On the 28th of May, after several heated days following the extended
rainy season of some three weeks of cool, even chill, dark and rainy
days (vital to maintaining the water level in the Swale, overcoming
for a time the effects of a culvert’s draining) I observed an adult
female out in the late afternoon, along the margins of the greatly
reduced nesting terrain associated with the east Brook. She could have
begun her searching for a nesting site. This can take days, or on some
occasions be the work of a single evening or morning. Soon after, I
found one definitely engaged in a search for a place to nest. She had
already dug a trial nest and abandoned it (common practice with this
species) and her carapace was well-covered with sand along the
margins. As I am making a concerted effort this year to take a census
of the wood turtles in the confluent two-stream central habitat for
the colony I have followed for some twenty four years I picked her up
in order to make an identification. I hated to do this, but a major
quest for me is to see who the nesters are at this time, with a view
to the great otter depredation of adults of four or five years ago.
And the turtles will in time go about their necessary business. In
fact this one, a long-familiar older female, did go on to complete her
nest that same evening despite my intrusion – I found it the next
morning. And that same morning, as I drove in on a dirt road at the
East brook area, I saw a wood turtle nesting in a sandy, scraped-out
niche used at times by farm equipment. This was precisely where I saw
my first wood turtle nesting, 24 years ago. Generally the passing of a
car does not disturb a nesting turtle enough for her to abandon her
project. As she was well-dug-in I did not want to go near her, and was
going to continue with my survey. But as I looked back, I saw her
crossing the narrow dirt road, heading back to cover along the brook.
So, I was able to capture her for identification. She was one of
twelve wood turtles we outfitted with radio transmitters for a study
Sheila Tuttle conducted a her Master’s Thesis for Antioch New England
in 1993. She was one of two subadults I chose to include, along with
the ten adults, in this radio-tracking study. As I recall, she was 11
years old then, which would put her in her 30th year.

On the first of June, following a very hot and humid spell of several
days in the upper 80s and even reaching 90 degrees, a day when tornado
warnings were posted for NH and adjacent areas, a thunderstorm passed
by to the immediate south of the wood turtle center, and a brief
period of rain fell. This lasted less than ten minutes – maybe five,
as I think of it – not at all the rain I had hoped for, and gardens
and swamps have been affected by another dry spell. At least we were
spared the severe storms that struck elsewhere; such as the tornado
that struck Monson, MA, site (along with Wales) of the Norcross
Wildlife Foundation’s sanctuary, Tupper Hill, where I served as artist-
Naturalist form 1994-1997 (as described in my SELF-PORTRAIT WITH
TURTLES). But this pattern of well-heated days following a cool, dark,
dry spell, followed by late afternoon rain and imminent or actual
thunderstorms is a classic signal for wood-turtle nesting. It occurs
with other species as well, but seems to me to be a hallmark of the
wood turtles. Between 4:30 and 6:30 I found four out to nest. As with
the previous two observed, these were older (30 years and up,
impossible to determine as they were already beyond accurately aging
when I first found them, twenty and more years ago) long-familiar
turtles. After this day of storms and near-storms, the weather went
from Guatemalan to Nova Scotian, from blazing sun, high heat and
humidity to heavily clouded days with strong winds (15-25 mph, gusts
to 35), cool to chill, and very low humidity; a pattern not typically
conducive to nesting. I intend to continue my quest to identify
nesting females. So far, the general (prevailing?) tendency appears to
be of the nesting in the colony to be carried out by the older
females; individuals I think of as the matriarchs. But I want to see
if any in the 15-20 year class nest as well, and hope I can be in all
the places at all the right times to get a handle on the age
distribution of those who nest.

My census continues, and will through the season, something of a
roundup to see who is still here, who is not, and new recruits into
the colony. Initial findings strongly bear out that recruitment here,
demonstrated by finding turtles in the 1-15 year age class, is
unusually high, based on what I have read in the literature about
other study areas, and my conversations with others who are engaged in
long-term studies of wood turtles (I am a bit out of touch with these
sources in recent years, but believe the scenario holds, with findings
of subadult turtles uncommon to rare). Already this year I have found
a number of previously undocumented 3, 6, and 9 years olds. It
continues to amaze me that I find turtles who have lived 2-10 years in
an area of no particular great extent that I have covered so closely
for so many years. I found a 13 year old who is missing both front
legs but still surviving, no doubt one of the many victims of the
winter of heavy predation by otters; but I am not seeing a number of
double-amputees I found the first-third years after their injuries. My
impression is that the wood turtles can survive the loss of feet or
half or entire limbs, but those more severely handicapped may not
survive long-term. Again, I hope more searches and more finds bring me
a clearer picture of these and other dynamics.

A week ago I had a most interesting interview with Mary Helen Miller,
who is writing for the Christian Science Monitor… a three-hour
dialog in our studio gallery and out by the swamps. She is writing
piece for the paper’s weekly magazine, for a column entitled “People
Who Make a Difference”. I am honored by this of course, but surely
wish I could make much more of a difference in that difficult area of
inspiring our culture and economics move beyond conservation to
preservation, as often addressed in my books and always in my talks.
More on this difference another time. I am not sure when Mary Helen’s
article will appear.