Falling into Failure. Sept. 24th and 25th.

I wasn't even going to write this one. It might be time to call it a day on this blog. I love keeping records of the animals we see but if I lose the whole point of being a sort of naturalist, why should I continue?

Anyway, we went back to Plymouth County in pursuit of a 2022 Hognose. We can usually get at least one per year at this spot. We got there early and warmed up with the sun. The cool nights and recent rain had the salamanders happy and Redbacks were our first finds.

Heading towards "our" vernal, Andrea found another Redback, but he was sharing the space with a Spotted Salamander.

"Our" vernal had a lot of life. Some Painters were basking on a tire and there's a Bully in the foreground.


A wee Bull.


A couple of Greens...

From there we, as always, headed to the bog. This is where my world fell apart.

About 20 feet into the bog trail, I saw a Green Snake sunning in the grass. I grabbed it and took it to the dirt of the path for a photo. He was pissed. Musked me. Thrashed. I put my hands over it to try to calm it a bit. After a moment I lifted my hands and he shot off into the grass. Trying to retrieve it would be like trying to get your water back after dumping it down the drain.

In the decade we've been visiting this State Forest, this is the second Green we have encountered. And I lost it with no photo. No safety in-hand shot. Nothing. Obviously, I was very upset.

Too upset, really. 6 days later as I write this, it still stings. Self hatred set in quickly. 

I didn't get over it, but I photographed a few Bullfrogs sitting in the bog.

I admitted to Andrea (the poor thing) that I was on the verge of tears still as we drove to the next spot, our most reliable Hog hike. In my head, even if we saw a Hog, it would be like a consolation prize.

On a dirt path that cuts through a field, an adult, dusky colored Hog skedaddled off the path right in front of me and disappeared into the brush. Like the Green, there was no hope.

A younger me, even a couple of years ago, would have been lucid enough to lunge and catch the Hog for photos, even though it would have played dead. At 60, my lunging days are behind me. I have lost more than a few steps off my game. I'm a failure.

2 for 2 in the loss department. Andrea said I was having an off day. In my heart, I knew I was having an off life lately.

I decided that every photo for the rest of my life will be in-hand. This poor Fowler's was the first.

The last stop produced a few (not in-hand) Painted Turtles.

That was it. It was a quiet ride home. (Though it usually is, with Andrea on her phone.)

But the way I reacted brings up a lot of points. I mean, if one of the few things that gives me joy in life can trigger such negative emotions, should I still do it? And why should it matter? Make the blog look bad? Who gives a fuck? Who even reads it? (I know Matt, Eric, Tim, Mike and Duckhouse do sometimes... thank you. Sorry you have to see this drivel.)

In truth, I'm less bothered by my waning field abilities than my ability to roll with the punches. I'm drugged to the hilt to try to be able to deal with negative feelings... too much so, I feel at times, but evidently, I could use some more. 

I suck at trophy herping. I felt like a total failure... usually something I reserve for work and social life... not life in the field.

I can give myself two nods after all is said and done on that Saturday. I didn't give up and I didn't intentionally hurt myself.

The next day, Sunday the 25th, was cloudy and cool and we almost stayed in. But what the hell... we took a walk around another Plymouth County area in hopes of a Snapling or two. What could possibly go wrong?

As sometimes happens there, we walked about 2 miles before seeing a few Painters.

I was tripping around and scared in a Painter but where I had stepped, I had almost trod upon this Water Snake that Andrea saw.

A nice Bull that Andrea spotted.

The rest of the day was a few Painters. Like I said, it wasn't very nice out so there weren't many critters about.

We ended on this black-eyed Bullfrog. Just a speck of gold at the top of his solid black eyes. He looks like he's trippin' balls.

That's that. I'm not proud of the way I have felt. I'm not happy that I can't control my emotions. I don't want to be like this. But I am. Who cares?