A salamander found only in Virginia, just got a leg up. Once considered a vulnerable species, is, ast this point, no longer a candidate for the Endared Species list, thanks to a 20-year collaborative effort by scientists and government wildlife agencies.
It’s a win, not only for this unique amphibian, but also for an area that’s one of the states’ greatest natural treasures.
The tiny Peaks of Otter Salamander gets its nickname from the famously tall mountain in the Jefferson National Forest near the Blue Ridge Parkway.
“It's a skinny little thing. It's about the thickness of maybe like your pinky finger or so. It’s got four little legs on the sides. Smooth skin," says Liberty University Biology Professor Norm Reichenbach.
Reichenbach began studying the small, shiny creature in the 90s. "It breathes through its skin, doesn't have any lungs. So that's where it has to be. Moist skin has to be moist in order for it to get oxygen across the skin to be picked up by its circulatory system. It's a cute little animal."
It's also picky, speaking biologically that it is. It lives only in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains, only at elevations around 4,000 feet and only in about a 45 square mile area. “It kind of goes between Flat-Top Mountain, all the way over to Apple Orchard Mountain. That's its worldwide distribution," Reichenbach explains.
And that shows how fragile these tiny ecosystems actually are and why it takes coordinated efforts to keep them healthy. In this small corner of the world, the Peaks of Otter Salamander plays a key role, eating what’s below it on the food chain -- soft bodied insects in this case, and in turn, feeding species above it, keeping the ecosystem intact.
And this is what’s being celebrated by the very people who worked together to help it thrive: the U.S. Forest Service, National Park Service, Fish and Wildlife, Virginia’s Department of Game and Inland Fisheries, Blue Ridge Parkway officials, scientists and students and representatives of both Virginia senators all of whom came out hoping to get a glimpse of the sometimes elusive salamander.
“I can’t wait to see one!” says Wendi Weber, Regional Director at U.S. Fish and Wildlife. “I’ve only seen pictures, so I hope that we do!”
Weber says, this is how “collaborative conservation should be accomplished, everybody working together. And the exciting part is, we're also able to show that you can manage land, you can also do some timber harvest and some other management and be able to still save the critter."
Managing those competing interests on national land is a constant factor. And even though the Peaks of Otter salamander won't be added to the endangered species list, Webers says, that doesn't mean it's the end of the story when a critter is taken off the endangered list.
“After we de-list a species under the endangered species act, we do have a post de-listing monitoring plan that's required. We usually don't de-list unless we have the certainty and assuredness that it's going to be a continued to be conserved with the commitment of partners." Reporter: So it's, nothing to be worried about in terms of the administration and its issues of trying to roll back certain protections? Weber says, "When we recover a species, it's something to be celebrated, no matter what administration. It means that we got together, we did right by the species, and we're committed to protecting and conserving it."
Meagan Racey, of the Fish and Wildlife Service points out, that the Peaks of Otter salamander, specie, Plethodon hubrichti, while not on the endangered list, will continue to be monitored by the universities and agencies that have been looking after it.
These Blue Ridge mountains are famously misty and damp, perfect conditions for the Peaks of Otter Salamander but for the past many weeks, the region has been in near drought. A fortuitous day of rain, just prior to this celebration meant the people who’d worked to save them see the results of their efforts.
“Look where the other people are so you don’t double-turn rocks” warns Professor Reichenbach, as people fan out to help with the count.
“Anyone find a baby?” shouts Reichenbach. Someone had.
Scientists, students, supporters and friends, picking up rocks and finding the shiny, wriggly creatures, counting them, taking their pictures and putting them back where they were, in that tiny swath of a mountain range that gave them their name.
