NEWSDAY (New York, New York) ; Muddling along after turtles (Bryn Nelson)

NEWSDAY (New York, New York) 05 February 06 Muddling along after turtles (Bryn Nelson)

Standing amid sun-splashed oaks and pines by a small pond, Norman Soule has come to disturb the torpor of his research subjects on one of winter's warmest days.
Under slightly different circumstances, it would be a perfect day for a turtle hunt.
Eastern mud turtles may be abundant in the Southeast, but they're the rarest of all turtles in New York and on the state's list of endangered species.
"They have low reproduction potential, they're at the northern edge of their range, and there's not a lot of them," says Soule, director of the nonprofit Cold Spring Harbor Fish Hatchery & Aquarium.
About five populations are known in the state, all on Long Island. The herpetologist is wary about publicizing specific locales, though, out of fear that collectors will worsen an already desperate situation. Hungry raccoons, road crossings and habitat loss have contributed to the reptiles' decline.
To learn more about their remaining haunts and help protect them, Soule and his collaborators have caught nearly two dozen mud turtles in sardine-baited traps. After securing nickel-sized transmitters on their shells with electrician's tape, the researchers have released the petite turtles back into this wooded Suffolk County spot.
On a good day, a radio receiver antenna can pick up a transmitter signal from 200 yards.
But this is not a good day.
Soule knows that five of last year's 10 turtle transmitters already have gone missing, either due to dead batteries or hosts that wandered out of range. And he has forgotten to bring new batteries for the remaining five. Plus, he's working with a bad antenna lead, calling into question the receiver's hopeful chirps and wildly swinging gauge needle.
The signal for the first transmitter's radio frequency grows louder when Soule approaches a fallen log, and he fiddles with the sensitivity to zero in on the turtle's underground burrow. He detaches the bulky antenna and uses its lead like a stethoscope, moving it around in the dead leaves and listening for a telltale change in the chirping. Finally, he finds it: a small hole leading to the turtle's winter den, or hibernaculum.
A bit of effort yields a dirt-encrusted, 3-inch-long female that remains tightly ensconced within her shell.
"Right now, you've got a turtle that's panicked," Soule says. He soon returns her to the burrow and restores her natural cover.
The second turtle is somewhere by the far side of the pond, through tendrils of prickly cat briar. Again, Soule fiddles with the unreliable receiver and tests his recollection.
There.
He reaches into the ground until his forearm disappears.
"If you hear screaming, it means I found a rat hole," he says with a grin.
A pause.
"No, I found a turtle."
Because he has no new batteries, this one stays underground.
A mud turtle rebound on Long Island would require reproductive success, though Soule says very few acorn-sized hatchlings have been seen in recent years. Perhaps the nurseries just haven't been located yet, but he worries about the future of these pint-size reptiles.
Right now, he has more immediate concerns. The transmitter battery on turtle No. 3 has apparently died as well.
"This one I'm going to have to do from memory," he says, and he consults a page of notes specifying that the burrow should be below a large bayberry bush.
There's a large bush. Oh, but here's another one. And several more just like it.
Soule sighs. But he has a backup plan for next time, one that has worked before: a borrowed metal detector to pin down the lost transmitter's metal parts.
The errant antenna foils his efforts to find turtle No. 4, and the battery on No. 5 is dead, too.
All is not lost. As he hikes though the woods, Soule tells how each round of trapping and tracking can point out new habitats. He savors every one.
"My wife can make me a list of things to get at the grocery store," he says. "If it's got more than three items on it, I've got to write it down."
But he recalls every old burrow and pauses to point them out. After all, it's a nice day, and he's in no hurry to leave.
http://www.newsday.com/features/printedition/longislandlife/ny-lfnw4611164feb05,0,7050439.story?coll=ny-lilife-print