Archives of The Cold Blooded News

The Newsletter of the Colorado Herpetological Society

Volume 31, Number 2;   February, 2004

A Turtle hurdle: 100 years

by Bryn Nelson

On July 3, 1921, a naturalist named John Treadwell Nichols recorded a new entry in his leather-bound field journal. Writing in a neat, cursive script, he described a newly found Eastern box turtle, the 21st one of the year at the estate where he spent summers with his wife and children. The turtle's concave underside, or plastron, suggested it was a male, as did its red eyes. And from the growth rings on its plastron and domed shell, or carapace, the turtle appeared to be at least 19 years old. Nichols carved the code "JN21 21" into its hard 5¼-inch-long plastron with a penknife. Then, as usual, he liberated the turtle at the flagpole near the edge of the front yard.

In 1990, National Parks Service ranger Richard Stavdal recaptured JN21-21 at the estate. And last September, as census-takers from the Wildlife Conservation Society were nearing the end of a biological inventory, they again found JN21-21 -- by then a centenarian. To their surprise, the turtle appeared in remarkably good condition, with little evidence of wear. "Doesn't look a day over 50," Stavdal says. Although widely variable in color and design, the highly domed carapace of an Eastern box turtle often incorporates orange or yel.low sunbursts or dappled patterns that mimic the effect of sunlight filtering through the leaves. JN21-21 bears a delicate orange design that belies the often brutal changes to its habitat. It has survived hurricanes that felled entire forests, brushfires that blackened the land and pesticides that silenced the calls of frogs and toads.

Creatures such as box turtles face a new danger with the proliferation of raccoons sustained by the ample garbage and limited predators of suburban life. The hinged plastron of a threatened turtle allows it to withdraw its head and limbs and close its shell tightly like a box. But in nocturnal raids, raccoons dig up nests of turtle eggs, stalk the walnut-sized young, and claim anything left unprotected by turtles slow to retreat.

"You'll see them burned, chewed, with three limbs, with two limbs," says Stavdal. Yet they persevere. "They recover. They're incredibly tough," he says. Their survival may also stem from their opportunism. An Eastern box turtle will eat everything from mushrooms and berries to worms, slugs, and carrion as it forages through field and forest. Its biggest threats, according to Stavdal, are the development and habitat fragmentation that perpetuate its isolation.

The park ranger taps a black and white aerial photograph of the 613-acre William Floyd Estate. The property's patchwork of cleared fields and darkened woods appears hemmed in by the coastline to the south and east and the partially wooded suburban yards to the north and west. "Places like this will be their salvation," Stavdal says of the estate. "This and the pine barrens, because they don't handle development well. Turtles just can't get up and flyaway like a bird."

While Nichols worked as a curator at the American Museum of Natural History in Manhattan during the week, his children stayed at the estate and kept the turtles they caught in a brick window well near the front porch. Upon his return, he paid them two cents for each unmarked turtle, and five cents for each previously marked one. From 1914 until his death in 1958, Nichols released JN21-21 and nearly 1,000 other box turtles by the estate's old flagpole. From his meticulous and prolific notes, he discovered that strong homing instincts eventually led each one back to a home range with a diameter of little more than 250 yards.

Although few records exist to help researchers determine the normal life span of a box turtle in the wild, JN21-21 is among Long Island's oldest. But regardless of age, he and his fellow turtles are now priceless -- as much the treasured natural resources of a beloved estate as they are true survivors in an ever-changing landscape. Perhaps 100 years from now, another wizened Eastern box turtle roaming somewhere around the William Floyd Estate will continue the tradition, a mark of compassion notched upon its shell.