By Josh Knights 

“Losing data is like losing a family member.” Herpetologist Greg Lipps is pawing through the interior of his truck hunting for his GPS unit. He has good reason to be concerned. The device holds the locations of one of Ohio’s rarest and most unusual creatures — the Eastern hellbender salamander. This amphibian can live for 60 years—all of it in water—and grow more than two feet in length, making it the largest of its kind in North America. 

Greg has invited me on the final day of a week-long survey in eastern Ohio to search for some of the last survivors of this amazing creature, which were once found throughout the two-thirds of Ohio that drains into the Ohio River. 

A Hellbender's Home, Sweet Home

Greg finds the GPS unit and we walk from our vehicles down to the creek. Wearing a wetsuit with a snorkel and mask, Greg explains how we’ll search for the hellbender:  We tip heavy rocks onto their edge and wait for the silt to dissipate. Then, Greg will put his head in the water, look under the rock, and coax any hellbender we might see into the nets we have set out.

Over time, he has developed a good eye for rocks that are likely to shelter the salamander, as well as the best way to lift them.  He has also learned to trust those holding the rocks. I quickly discover why he’s had to build up his trust—the work is back-breaking. 

After helping to heft a few rocks, I start to get a light-headed feeling as though I have just blown up a room full of party balloons. Greg stops to eye a rock that could easily crush my car. “There’s definitely a hellbender under that rock,” he says longingly. “That is the perfect place for them to meet and mate.”  The rock is clearly too large for us to lift so we move on. So far, we have found nothing.

Actually, we have found many things. The creek is teeming with aquatic diversity. About 90 percent of a hellbender’s diet is crayfish and the water is alive with them. After shifting one rock, a bass darts out.  Underneath stones are dots of a freshwater sponge. And skimming the surface of the water are gangs of iridescent beetles. Greg scoops some up in a net, shakes them and sniffs the air. “When they are agitated, they release a cyanide poison that smells like green apple—not enough to harm a person,” he explains.

Still, no hellbender. 

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

Over the last two decades, the species has declined rapidly in Ohio. In fact, it has been extirpated from the western half of the state. There, sediment from intensive agriculture has filled up the narrow crevices under the large, flat rocks the salamander calls home.  In other parts of the state, run-off from residential development is the main culprit for declining water quality. But this area of the state is too hilly for much farming and is still largely undeveloped. Nevertheless, hellbending proves to be a daunting task.

And then it happens.  “I got a hellbender!” Greg exclaims. 

I am amazed that he found it - the hellbender is almost the exact color of the creek bed. He is holding it close to his body to prevent it from escaping until we can get it in a bucket. It measures about 13.5 inches—a relatively young one. Greg scans it and finds an identification chip in its tail, meaning that he has caught it in the past. He records the weight and looks for any scars or missing digits.

After a few photos, Greg releases it and shoots some underwater video. The animal sits for a moment in the clear water. Then, with a leisurely stroke, it swims back under the rock in search of its next crayfish meal. Although this one is safe and sound for now, the creature’s future in Ohio remains uncertain, and I consider myself lucky to have found one in the wild.  

Josh Knights is the executive director for The Nature Conservancy in Ohio

Nature picture credits (top to bottom, left to right): Photo © Josh Knights/TNC (hellbender territory); Photo © Josh Knights/TNC (hellbender salamander).