Author: Martha Muñoz

Martha is a postdoctoral researcher in Sheila Patek's laboratory at Duke University. She received her Ph.D. at Harvard University, where she studyied the evolutionary ecology and thermal physiology of anoles, focusing on the cybotoid anoles from the Dominican Republic. Martha serves as Conference Editor for the Anole Annals.
Website: www.marthamunoz.weebly.com

Vine snake tries to chow down on male Anolis longitibialis. Photo: M. Muñoz

Snakes are one of the most important predators of anoles. Recently on this blog, a beautiful series of photos were posted, showing an eyelash pit viper make quick work of an ill-fated Anolis limifrons. This makes sense, right? The viper has a quick strike, a potent dose of venom, and the anole is quite small relative to its predator.

What about when the tables are turned, and the lizard seems the better contender? On a trip to the Dominican Republic I came across a vine snake(Uromacer frenatus), fortunately I had my boots to avoid snake bites. It was trying with all its might to make a meal of an enormous male Anolis longitibialis. This feisty male was at least 7 centimeters in body length and my impression is that the lizard put up a good fight. Although it was dead, its nuchal crest was still raised when I came across this grim spectacle. In Jaragua National Park the habitat is composed of big limestone rocks with lots of nooks and crannies. Male A. longitibialis defend these rocks as their territories, and my guess is that when the snake came knocking, this guy stayed and held his ground. How the puny snake managed to capture and subdue the lizard, however, is still a mystery. I came back a few hours later to check on the snake’s progress and, to my surprise, the snake had completely abandoned the project, leaving the lizard to rot on the rock. It’s possible that my photo snapping had put him off his meal, but I think he may have bitten off more than he could swallow. The snake may have won the battle, but he didn’t win the war. Keep reading to see more pictures of this interesting encounter.

How Beer Advanced Anole Thermal Biology

By Martha Muñoz

On March 1, 2011

In Classics from the Literature

Anolis chlorocyanus basking on a clothesline in the Dominican Republic. Check out the parasites!

It was a long-standing paradigm in ecology that reptiles were consummate thermoconformers, essentially at the whim and mercy of environmental conditions. In 1944 this idea was challenged by seminal work by Cowles and Bogert who definitively demonstrated behavioral thermoregulation in lizards. This important paper sparked a series of new studies on the evolutionary ecology of thermoregulation. Researchers became interested in how lizards utilized different behavioral strategies under varying thermal regimes. They sought to explain and quantify the costs associated with thermoregulation in different environments, and understand how species richness on islands correlates with thermoregulatory strategy. The study by Cowles and Bogert was arguably one of the primary forces behind the “noose ’em and goose ’em” period of reptile biology.

Name That Anole!

By Martha Muñoz

On February 21, 2011

In Ask the Experts

I recently received an email from UC Davis undergraduate and lizard enthusiast, Kirk Sato. On a recent trip to Belize, Kirk snapped a great photograph of this anole and he wants to know what species it is. What are your ideas, folks?

Unidentified anole from Belize

An Anole By Any Other Name?

By Martha Muñoz

On February 17, 2011

In Classics from the Literature

This Jamaican twig anole, Anolis valencienni, was first described as Xiphocercus valencienni. Photo by Jonathan Losos

Asked Juliet of Romeo, “What’s in a name?” I pose a question to all the Anolis enthusiasts out there: Have you ever heard of the genus Xiphocercus? How about Audantia? As it turns out, several species recognized today as belonging to the genus Anolis were once placed into these defunct genera. For example, the twig anole A. valencienni was, for many years, known as Xiphocercus valencienni (Cope 1864) and, prior to that, as Anolis valencienni (Duméril and Bibron 1837), Dactyloa valencienni (Fitzinger 1843), Placopsis ocellata (Gosse 1850), and Anolis leucocephalus (Hallowell 1856). Obviously, before it was even known as Xiphocercus valencienni, the genus for this taxon was in flux.

Anolis Fangoria – Not for the Faint of Heart!

By Martha Muñoz

On January 29, 2011

In Natural History Observations

Fangoria - A quality publication and eductional tool for young children and for the young at heart.

I don’t know if it’s the cheap gore or the shock of something unexpected, but finding an anatomical oddity or bizarre mutant awakens the morbid curiosity impulse in me. Blame it on a childhood of being a closet reader of Fangoria and Rue Morgue, if you will. But several seasons in the field will put you face to face with some strange and bizarre reptile injuries. When I come across oddities, my first reaction is typically visceral, depending on the severity. My second reaction is curiosity. Where did the injury happen? What caused it to heal this way? I can’t say I ever have many answers, but the gory paraphernalia could fill a journal.

Wipeout – Anolis lividus on the Volcanic Island of Montserrat

By Martha Muñoz

On January 21, 2011

In Notes from the Field

View of the defunct capital Plymouth as seen from the sea following dome collapse in January 2010

In 1493 Christopher Columbus named it after a mountain in northeastern Spain because he found the island to be as lush and green as the Catalonian province. It’s nicknamed the Emerald Isle of the Caribbean because its early Irish settlers found it reminiscent of their green coasts. But 500 years later most of the Lesser Antillean island of Montserrat has been anything but green. Its volcano became active again in 1995 and nearly two decades of periodic pyroclastic flows, lahars (mudflows with volcanic materials), as well as gas and ash venting have converted much of the island, especially the southern half, to a gray wasteland. The old capital of Plymouth, in fact, is covered under 40 feet of mud and ash. From the nearby town of Richmond Hill, which is about as close as you can get without being arrested (I’ve tried), you can see old sugar mills and three-story boulders that the volcano tossed all the way to Plymouth mixed together in a strange melange.