Dr. Robert C. Stebbins: Happy Birthday

As so many (bio)accumulation readers have faithfully reminded me, today – March 31st – is Dr. Robert C. Stebbins‘ 98th birthday. Warm wishes to California’s renowned herpetologist!

Robert C. Stebbins, Kensington Residence Studio, 2004 Museum of Vertebrate Zooology, UC Berkeley

Feel free to leave a note in a comment below if you’d like to reminisce or share your regards in honor of his birthday.

Stebbins, A Life and Times

ROBERT STEBBINS’S MEMORIES

Written when he was 95 years old.
There is no logical nor chronological order to the memories.

Post 10

Saying Goodbye to MVZ 

Some years ago, when Dave Wake was still director of MVZ, I remarked to him that I was the oldest member of the MVZ old guard! Where-upon Dave said, “No, Bob, Seth Benson is still alive and he’s older”. (He lived to be 100). After a moment of reflection I remarked, “Yes, but he’s no longer active at MVZ”. Now, unless there is someone hiding in the wings, I do believe I am MVZ’ s ancient one along with some debilities that go with the territory. That is why I am reading my remarks.

I arrived in 1945, at a time when the need for a curator in herpetology had become evident. Emphasis had been on birds and mammals. I was lucky to get the job. Alden Miller was director. Thanks to his flexibility and willingness to promote the interest of staff and students, the following events occurred.

One day he told me that two important ladies were coming to MVZ – Annie Alexander and Miss Kellog. They were interested in meeting the new curator and to look at some specimens they had collected for the Museum.

As many of you know, Annie Alexander (Coca Cola heiress) had provided finances for the establishment of MVZ and supported Joseph Grinnel as director of the program. (I missed him by a couple of years.) Miller’s message to me (unspoken) was don’t blow it.

I had heard stories about these ladies – they carried guns and took gates off hinges to access habitats for the purpose of collecting MVZ specimens. I received their approval.

Alden Miller gave me all kinds of encouragement and support. When I told him drawing was an important part of my teaching and scientific life (starting at UCLA) that if I were to continue it as a curator and researcher it might well interfere with my advancement in academia (preparing scientific papers and keeping up with scientific literature), to my great relief he said, by all means draw. As it turned out I advanced at the normal rate.

Under Alden Miller (in those early days) MVZ’ s academic growth and public service involvement grew significantly, a trend that has continued over the years. His influence on a young naturalist neophyte was great.

MVZ made my life whole! I am deeply sorry to leave this wonderful organization and dear friends I will probably not see again. Anna-rose and I now go to a retirement home in Eugene, Oregon, near the beautiful Willamette River. I will continue painting and writing my memories. A recent one is titles, “An Act of Desperation: Evaporated Milk as a Substitute for Brake Fluid”. I’ll read it to you. It only takes 5+ minutes.

(Read to the staff and students at MVZ at my Going Away Party)

An Act of Desperation

June 1951

It was on a trip to Brock Mountain near Squaw Creek, Shasta Co., California in search of salamanders. The area was remote, with winding dirt roads, little travelled. With me were my children, John (age 9) and Melinda (age 8) and my graduate student Joe Gorman, who was working on his doctoral thesis on salamanders. We had finished our field work and were ready to head home to the San Francisco Bay Area. It was late afternoon.

The road ahead was a steep, winding, down-hill, track. As we started down the grade the car brake pedal felt soft. I placed the car in low gear. Soon the grade grew steeper and the pedal softer. I changed to compound low. Soon thereafter I decided I must stop. I ran the car into a road bank. An all night stand confronted us.

Joe immediately offered to go for help. The nearest lookout station (Brock Mountain) was 3 miles or so away and it soon would be dark. It fell to him to go for help. However, the children, who had become used to field work, were taking everything in stride – no complaints.

It took about 3 hours to reach the lookout. He must have arrived in the dark. At the lookout, at some point, a call for help was sent. A “Mr. Peterson”, at the other end, suggested that given our situation, maybe the best thing to do was to use an established out-back method (used in desperation?) – substituting evaporated milk for brake fluid!

The next morning Joe and Linn (a person from the lookout) went to a store about 8 miles away where they got 3 cans of evaporated milk. They returned to my car, perched with its nose in the bank, and put about 3/4 pint of milk in the brake fluid reservoir. The fluid was then pumped into the brake system by depressing the brake pedal. They had pinched off the line to the right rear brake drum, where the leak seemed to be. A pending nightmare had turned into a happy dream! We were able to drive all the way to Berkeley with evaproated milk for the brake fluid! The brakes functioned perfectly.

There was, however, a price to pay. MVZ had to have all the brake lines replaced because they were filled with coagulated milk. But there was really no less costly or better way to solve our problem. However, in retrospect, I feel I should have assured the kids that evaporated milk was no regular substitute for good old brake fluid.

Editor’s Note: With the exception of minor typographical and editorial corrections, all efforts have been taken to preserve Dr. Stebbins’ text as originally recorded.

For more information on this serial column featuring the life and times of Dr. Robert C. Stebbins, please visit this post.

Stebbins, A Life and Times

ROBERT STEBBINS’S MEMORIES

Written when he was 95 years old.
There is no logical nor chronological order to the memories.

Post 9

Hunting Salamanders is Not Child’s Play! 

I stood at his bedside as he muttered, “Don’t let anybody tell you hunting salamanders is child’ play” — words spoken by my graduate student Joe Gorman who had chosen to study salamanders as his doctoral thesis. He was in U.C. Berkeley’s Cowel Hospital Emergency ward recovering from assorted injuries resulting from a fall in a limestone cave in Northern california. As his major professor I was not immediately surprised because I knew he was prepared to take risks to learn all he could about his chosen subject –salamanders of the genus Hydromantes. This was a group of terrestrial salamanders known only, at the time, from isolated populations in Europe and a single species in the Sierra Nevada of California, a remarkable distribution! As I listened to the story of the accident I decided I must go to the site to learn more about what had happened.

Joe and his wife had gone to an area of limestone in the Mount Shasta region to look for Hydromantes. A U.C. Berkeley paleontologist, C. L. Camp, famous for his work on fossils in the area, had received a batch of shriveled up salamanders that had been found at one of the limestone sites in the area. He suspected that they might be a new species and contacted Joe to inform him of the find. The locality was far north of the Sierran form.

Joe was delighted, and with his wife Jerry and their small dog (an important player in this drama), went to the general area of the site. At this point my information on how Joe found the cave is lacking. I recall a steep slope with limestone outcrops and scattered clumps of brush. Had he been guided there or had he stumbled onto the cave as he explored the surrounding wild terrain. Caves, often concealed by vegetation, are sometimes located by the flow of cool air expelled through openings at the surface.

My Personal Observations at the Cave Site 

The vicinity of the cave was somewhat brushy, mixed with limestone exposures. The entrance was a horizontal tunnel, perhaps 20 ft. long, and ending where a cavern opened up and dropped off into darkness. I shivered as I looked down into this dark foreboding area, wondering how Joe must have felt as he fell into the unknown.

At the entrance to the cave Joe began writing notes. A thorough observer, he might have spent an hour or so (?) at the task. Furthermore, he was visually in a twilight zone. As he started to leave, he somehow lost his orientation and instead of moving toward the exit, he moved in the opposite direction and fell into the abyss.

By measurement, I found (see sketch) that he fell 60 feet down a steep shaft before he hit bottom — the first 10 feet or so a free fall. He lost consciousness and, as I recall, was out for about 1 5 minutes. He knew the time span because of his notes, and his flashlight and wristwatch both had survived the fall.

When I studied the cave with the help of a rope, I could not imagine how he could have gotten out without help, especially given his injuries. The most difficult part would have been the “vertical drop” following the entrance turmel. I experimented at that site without the rope yet I could not find a way to get past that barrier. What a human being can do when life depends on it!

What happened when Joe reached the floor of the entry tunnel? He must have been exhausted and may have passed out again. It is doubtful if Jerry knew precisely where he had gone. What I know is the little dog was there to greet him! Had Jerry sent him, or had he gone on a hunt of his own? Finding Joe, did he enliven him by licking his face? As a person fond of dogs, I like to think so. Joe loved his little dog. Joe slipped a pencil under the dog’s collar, patted him and said “Go get Jerry”. Without this little canine’s help, this story may have had a less pleasant outcome.

This event occurred one mile east of Squaw Creek Road, vicinity of Low Pass Creek Road, Shasta County, california — on the west side of the Hosselkus.

Editor’s Note: With the exception of minor typographical and editorial corrections, all efforts have been taken to preserve Dr. Stebbins’ text as originally recorded.

For more information on this serial column featuring the life and times of Dr. Robert C. Stebbins, please visit this post.

Stebbins, A Life and Times

ROBERT STEBBINS’S MEMORIES

Written when he was 95 years old.
There is no logical nor chronological order to the memories.

Post 8

A True Ghost Town in California: 

Memories of Balarat as it was in the 1950s

It was 10 years after the first Atom bomb had been detonated in 1945. Uranium, its primary ingredient, had become a high priority item and the California deserts had emerged as an important source. People of all sorts had been drawn to the desert in hopes to make it rich by finding workable and rich deposits of uranium.

As a long-term desert rat with a strong commitment to desert protection, my “alarm bells” began ringing. What kinds of impacts might emerge from the unleashing of so many people into an environment widely recognized as fragile to human activities and little policed? This story is about what I believe may have been one of those impacts. It occurred at the Balarat Ghost Town, a place I had long hoped to visit.

Balarat (the “original” Ghost town) was located near the western base of the Providence Mountains in Panamint Valley. I had been told it was abandoned and unoccupied and to reach it meant crossing a shallow playa, over a mile wide, but a big-wheeled vehicle (which we had) should be able to make it. All roads were dirt.

I had with me our daughter Melinda, age 10, and one of my students, Bob Cogan. We arrived at the site around mid-afternoon. The Ghost Town had a main road aimed toward the base of the mountain and a number of side roads at right angles to the main one. The buildings were in various stages of deterioration – some completely flattened, others erect but falling apart. Many had sheets of metal still attached but some were loose, and there were crumbling walls of mixed mud and straw.

We selected a side-road and parked our vehicle, facing toward the main road. Since we had several hours available before dark, we scouted the area. I had an eerie feeling of ghosts of the past as we walked in silence except for the sounds of our footsteps and occasional creaking of loosely attached metal. I don’t recall whether I carried my .22 rifle. However, Bob Cogan had his. We had heard rumors of “Claim Jumpers” and some people being killed over the search for uranium (triggered by the development of the bomb).

As our walk approached the end of the “town”, and toward the base of the mountain, to our surprise we saw, at some distance, a recently constructed small building and decided to investigate. It contained new-looking 2x4s and see-through fresh chicken wire sides, and occupied an area about 15 ft. square by around 10ft. high. The entrance contained a new looking lock. All features suggested recent construction. Inside were various boxes and shelves. Bob immediately wanted to find a way to enter. I advised against it, and we left the area, mystified and a bit shaken, by what we had seen in such a remote and abandoned place. It was getting time for supper, so we headed back to camp, but when we arrived there, where was Bob Cogan? Suddenly he appeared, very excited, to tell me that he had remained behind and entered the mysterious building. Inside he found various kinds of drugs. It was a drug cache!! I was not happy that he failed to follow my directions, but was glad that now we knew what the building was about.

As I was preparing supper I became aware of a small light well up on the side of Providence Mountain’s massive base. Soon after the strange building episode, the light began to move and it was evident a vehicle was on its way down the mountain, as it followed a somewhat zig-zag course and was becoming brighter. I had no knowledge of any human habitation in the mountain area, so felt some anxiety. Soon the source disappeared momentarily as it reached the bottom of the grade but then reappeared as it headed down the main road of Balarat. The car stopped directly opposite our side-road and about 30 feet from our camp. Two stern-looking, robust men, perhaps in their 30′s, and seated together watched us closely – without getting our of their car – for 10 minutes or so, then abruptly turned around and went back up the mountain. No words were spoken.

Bob became concerned that there was a connection between their behavior and the disturbance we had created at the drug cache. Perhaps they were guards hired to protect the drug supply.

The Mystery Thickens

Soon after the silent visitors left, I saw a dust plume headed in our direction. A car was on the road we had followed in getting to Balarat. It crossed the playa and headed up the main ghost town road. Seeing us, the driver turned in to join us. The occupants were two young men with headquarters at Trona (about 30 mi. to the south) whose job it was to protect mine holdings. They were armed to do the job. They showed us their weapons, which included a machine gun! We invited them to join us for supper and to stay the night, which they accepted. It was getting late.

As night came on the sky filled with stars, so clear was the desert’s night air away from town lights. I revelled in the desert’s solitude and its familiar nocturnal sounds. Melinda was tired and crawled into her sleeping bag. I soon followed, but Bob and the Trona pair were discussing events of the day. Bob had been speculating that our mountain visitors might be guards of the drug cache and that, if so, we might be targeted for attack because of our discovery, and it could happen tonight.

Unknown to me, he and the Trona visitors, as a precaution, had armed themselves for such an eventuality.

Sometime near midnight I was awakened by Bob who was in a state of considerable anxiety. He wanted me to see what he believed was a man with a gun who had reached a point where he could fire on us.

He said he kept peeking around the side of one of the old buildings and moonlight occasionally glinted on his gun barrel.

I decided to get up and have a look. My vision was excellent, yet I could not see what he was describing. There was moonlight, passing clouds, and light reflection changes from loose metal on buildings. I went back to bed but could not sleep. Then, a little later, I heard cocking of several guns, sounds clearly coming from our camp! Now I was fully alert. I immediately got up, feeling things were getting out of hand! No “enemy” was to be seen, yet we had manned men cocking their guns. Why? They asked me to listen. Soon there was rattling sound coming from the old building. “That’s it”, they said. I explained it was sound made by wood rats that used rapid thumping of their tails to communicate.

It was now clear that our greatest danger might be us. What if Lindy had gotten up and moved into the expected line of fire? I picked her up, without awakening her, and placed her in a safer location. I then spoke to the armed young men: “I understand your anxiety. I have felt on edge too, but for the rest of the night we will have a “rotation of the guard”, ensuring we will always have a man on look out. I intend to stay awake, and no one is to use a weapon without my approval”.

The rotation watch went well and no attack occurred.

The next day the Trona pair returned to their base and a group of top officials came to investigate. Bob’s assessment of the drug situation was confirmed. The building contained drugs. I believe that the stern-looking men from the mountain were probably federal agent stake-outs seeking to intercept the drug dealers. They must have seen our California State License Plate and the make up of our party, including a child, and felt no need to involve us.

Balarat Revisited (after well over 50 years)

On September 5, 2009, I revisited Balarat with Steve Abbors, long a family friend. It may be my last visit to my beloved California desert because of age. It was a wonderful gift from the Abbors family. Balarat is now a site for public enjoyment. At the visitor center, a modest building, I met a 92 year old man, with whom I shared parts of the above story and found, to my delight, we had some common memories of Balarat as it was so long ago.

For example, we both knew “Seldom Seen Slim” – “Seldom” for short – a hungry-looking young prospector with a sense of humor that roamed the area. One of his favorite remarks was: “I’ve been working my claim for a week or two, now I’m looking for a sucker to sell it to” – a sensitive man, he was quick to say it was only a joke he had made up, and not really how he felt.

Seldom’s forthrightness and down-to-earth attitude reminded me of the many good people I have interacted with over many years of roaming deserts and other little developed wild lands. I like to believe it speaks well for being close to nature.

Editor’s Note: With the exception of minor typographical and editorial corrections, all efforts have been taken to preserve Dr. Stebbins’ text as originally recorded.

For more information on this serial column featuring the life and times of Dr. Robert C. Stebbins, please visit this post.

Book Review: Field Guide to Amphibians and Reptiles of California

Field Guide to Amphibians and Reptiles of California (Revised Edition), by Robert C. Stebbins and Samuel M. McGinnis, UC Press (www.ucpress.edu), 2012, 552 pages, $29.95.

It has been 40 years since there’s been a field guide published specific to the herpetofauna of California or the San Francisco Bay Region. The last such guide was Amphibians and Reptiles of California, the 31st guide in the University of California Press’ California Natural History Guides series by the esteemed herpetologist Dr. Robert C. Stebbins (whose memoirs continue to be featured here in the pages of (bio)accumulation). At long last, the wait is over.

Using the 1972 Amphibians and Reptiles of California as a springboard, Dr. Stebbins teamed with herpetologist Dr. Samuel M. McGinnis to bring California’s lone herpetology field guide into the 21st Century. In some ways this could be seen as a trimmed down, California edition of Stebbin’s 2003 A Field Guide to Western Reptiles and Amphibians (3rd edition), which tackled the 280 species of salamanders, frogs and toads, turtles, lizards, and snakes of the western United States, Canada, and Baja California, or perhaps a hybrid of his 1972 and 2003 field guides combined. But you are misguided (or desk bound) if you think that’s a fault. Keep in mind that 167 of those western herp species – nearly 60 percent! – call California home, and only 123 of those herps were treated in the 1972 guide. An updated guide to the Golden State’s shell-bound, slithery, and slimy inhabitants was long overdue.

How do these guides compare? As did its predecessors, Stebbins & McGinnis 2012 helps guide the modern herpetologist through chapters on wildlife observation and photography, the capture (and release) of herps in the wild, and herpetological husbandry. New, however, are chapters describing the evolutionary origins of amphibians and reptiles, the geographic distribution of herps in California, and the decline of amphibian and reptile populations.

Stebbins and McGinnis 2012 depart from earlier Stebbins field guides by imbedding Stebbins’ detailed illustrations and a range map within each species account, rather than as inset plates or stand alone maps. The range maps are as simple as they were previously, but larger now that their breadth is limited to California. The illustrations of amphibian larvae and eggs are also tucked within each of their respective species accounts, keeping everything neatly bundled together. And although the 2012 guide has brought back the checklist of California amphibian and reptile species, gone is the key to salamander, frog and toad, turtle, lizard, and snake morphologic traits illustrated in part in Stebbins 1972 and expanded upon in the endpapers of Stebbins 2003 that has proved so handy over the years.

Figure 1. A comparison of Stebbins’ field guides over the years.

Where the guide makes strides is in each species account. Previously, species were afforded a page or two of text describing miscellany natural history notes. Now, with the scope focused solely on California species, each account has been beefed up to include the author’s experiences and observations embedded in the descriptions. With only 167 species to illuminate (and ruminate on), the typical species account has filled out into as many as four or more pages of telling observations, remarks, and asides. Rare are the 1 page descriptions.

Despite the herpetological community’s expected enthusiasm over this newest Stebbins, passing the guide around with colleagues brought to light some of the guides’ shortcomings. Nowadays, in an age when Google Earth and GIS are such commonplace tools, the rudimentary range maps could have been dressed up with a topographic map, county lines, and major rivers, and given an entire page. As it stands now, each map – though larger than they were previously – is still just a state silhouette with a Rorschach blot to demarcate each species’ distribution.

Too, the taxonomy is unclear. Whereas Stebbins & McGinnis 2012 conform to recognizing, for example, the western pond turtle (Actinemys marmorata) and its former subspecies, the northwestern (A. m. marmorata) and southwestern (A. m. pallida) pond turtles – both subsumed in 2005 after the identification of four unique clades instead – they inexplicably dismiss the California legless lizard’s recognized subspecies, the silvery (Anniella pulchra pulchra) and black (A. p. nigra) legless lizards, with hardly any mention, instead lumping the pair. Admittedly, taxonomic nomenclature and the recognition of new species is in flux more so today than ever before. Much like the the drop in resale value after you drive a new car off the lot, the taxonomy in your average field guide today likely expires as soon as it goes to press. Still, even though Stebbins and McGinnis proffer they made every attempt to keep consistent with the herpetological zeitgeist rather than be adherents to this or that organization’s checklist, an explanation here and there would have helped clear the air.