On the 28th of October, a second consecutive day of temperatures at or
a bit above 70 degrees, I decided to take advantage of the opportunity
to do some final mowing and clearing of gardens and fields, all the
while envisioning wood turtles on west-facing streambanks. I went to a
stream reach that they heavily favor for their overwintering, all but
certain that there would be at least one or two up to take some late-
season sun. I did not make it to the West Wood Turtle Brook until 3:30
PM, feeling late for the day but yet on time, as the sun lingers here,
low and strong, in the hours before its setting. I stood by the red-
maple outreach of namesake Red Maple Pool, a place of many sightings
at the turtles’ emergence from hibernation and at this time of their
last basking before settling into total hibernation. Mesmerized by the
autumn stream on such a mild and sunlit
hour I was nonchalant, or better put, inattentive, in my turtle
surveillance. Until I was brought to focus by the image of an adult
male stroking through a sunshaft in the dark water, red-orange legs
flashing for a moment before disappearance in the deep and shaded run
of the much-restored brook. I was sure that he had been sunning
himself at the edge of the stream, and upon seeing me made his escape,
pretty much right under my nose. This taking to the water was a rare
reaction; in 23 years of searching along this brook and the eastern
branch of its confluence I have seen turtles take flight from stream
bank to water perhaps three or four times, and this I believe by a
solitary individual, a male. The fact that the wood turtles here – and
everywhere else I have observed them over the years – invariably adopt
that freeze-frame strategy, holding in place even at the very water’s
edge of deep runs of stream or river, relying on their camouflage and
not being seen rather than seeking to escape danger by taking to the
water, was a big factor in my insouciance as I approached my search
area. But this “rare” behavior was almost immediately exhibited by
another wood turtle who was quite close by the site of the first one’s
disappearance. I heard rustling leaves and looked up to see the turtle
scrambling down the steep slope of the banking…only three feet or so
from its edge. Happily for me, who wanted to see who this might be, he
got held up by a many branched upreach of silky dogwood right at the
water’s edge, and, hurling myself over fallen alder I just got my hand
on him. Here was long-familiar male number 132, a perfect-to-tail-tip
individual who, at the age of thirteen years seemed to be of breeding
status. It seems to take 15-20 years for wood turtles I have observed
in this colony to reach adulthood, but there must always be variables.
This seeking to elude capture rather than opting to hold completely
still by both of these turtles made me think again of good friend and
excellent turtle field worker, Steve Parren, head of Vermont’s Nongame
and Endangered Species Program, who has told me that he has to run to
catch streambank wood turtles, as they are as quick as painted turtles
to flee from basking sites and seek aquatic asylum. Always variables.
Such behavior, if it were to become the norm of the colonies I seek to
observe, would surely reduce my streambank capture quotas. One thought
I have had for the “freeze-frame” strategy was that if the threat were
caused by something like the approach approach of a predator such as
an otter, it would be of no avail to attempt escape by taking to water.

Some 40 or 50 yards upstream I found a third wood turtle, this a
wonderful little one who had just completed his first growing season.
This yearling, settled among fallen leaves less than a yard from the
brook, never made a move. He had had a strong first growing season,
having attained a carapace length of 58.2 mm…good start on a long
way to go. Another turtle, and as so often happens, even after all
these years, something else to think about. I have not seen any sign
of nesting by wood turtles in the historic nest habitats since the
winter of great otter depredation 4 (5?) seasons back. Various human
activities have also altered much of the former sandpit terrain and
reduced its suitability for nesting to next to nil. But this was a
hatchling of late August or early September of 2009: someone nested
somewhere, and at least one member of the successfully hatched clutch
had survived that perilous first year. Unless this one made the highly
unusual nest-to-water journey from nesting terrain across a broad
hayfield, that is utilized by females of the western branch of this
confluence; as did one hatchling during a study I conducted with
Sheila Tuttle in 1993. That turtle made a journey of 24 days.
Interestingly, this turtle’s basking niche – no doubt very close to
where he will spend his second winter in the brook – was at the base
of what I had come to call “juvenile Knoll” in my notebooks; a niche
that yielded a surprising number of finds of age classes hatchling
through six or seven years over a period of years. But I have failed
to see one here in the past five years or so. My repeatedly expressed
angst over incursions into turtle areas I have surveyed for over three
decades has had me a far more infrequent swampwalker in them over the
past four seasons; but even with continued near-daily patrols would I
really be able to comprehend much of what is at work, even in a
relatively small and turtle-rich ecological regime?

The fourth and final turtle of the day – not exactly a day, as all
were found between 3:30 and 4:45 – was an adult male, basking on the
crest of a steep bank not far upstream from where I had found the
yearling. This turtle, who was about three yards from the water’s
edge, made no move. And he perplexed me for some time, as I found no
notches or chips or markings that I would have used as identification
markers in my notes. No doubt one of the many victims of predation by
otters that devastating winter [it has not been repeated, and was
unprecedented in my previous 16 or 18 years here – seemingly an
uncommon, episodic event], the turtle had the merest stub of his left
front leg and was missing his right front foot. I could not recall
that exact configuration of amputation either, and thought he must be
a turtle I had not found following the otter attacks. At length I
noted that the rear four marginals, right and left sides of his
carapace, were sharply upturned, a distinct anomaly. And I then
recalled this turtle as one I referred to in my notebooks as “flare
male”, owing to these flared marginals, distinct enough that I never
notched him. A “long-time, no-see” turtle, again, in a less than
extensive ecological setting that I have surveyed so many times over
so many years.

I have found wood turtles up on streambanks during warm periods in
November, and once even in December. November has not yet brought any
mild spell that would induce basking, but one may yet come. My focus
has for some weeks turned largely to that “indoor season” of mine, as
I have focused on continuing my series of drawings of nudes I call
“Regarding Women Regarding” (I will be posting some images on our
carrollstudiogallery website before long, as we want to show more of
our original pieces), and on my language pursuits (still trying to add
at least a little Russian to my Spanish, Italian, and German; but I am
finding this quite a stretch), some writing. The “Four-legged” show at
Mill Brook Gallery in Concord, in which I have five pieces, has been
extended until December 21st.

HOLIDAY OPEN STUDIOS: after a hiatus of a couple of years we will once
again host open studios for two weekends in December; the 4th and 5th
and the 11th and 12th, from 9-5. Other times by chance or by
appointment (603) 456-3947. We will be doing a mail-out soon, which
will also announce our ever-evolving website and the
davidmcarrolljournal site. I would appreciate any one finding this
site – or our gallery – sharing addresses with anyone who might have
an interest. With appreciation and all best wishes, David