"The Perils of the Palisades"
Toxicodendron
radicans
(poison ivy)
Ixodes
dammini
(deer tick)
Agkistrodon contortrix
(copperhead snake)
"Perils of the Palisades"
Part I:
Toxicodendron radicans
Someone long ago pointed out that the "P. I." in P. I. P. might just as well stand for "poison ivy" as "Palisades Interstate," especially here in the NJ Section. Our open light spaces and dry soils happen to provide brilliant habitat for this tenacious, sun-loving member of the cashew family (of all things!). It adores us, though the feeling is rarely reciprocated—at least among humans.
Already by April the first new shoots are well on their way, the young leaves more red than green and very shiny from the secreted oil that can produce such severe reactions, including excruciating itch and a blistering rash. (Reactions vary widely from person to person, and can change over a lifetime: one unaffected as a child can nonetheless develop an acute adult reaction.) By summer, parts of the park have become veritable poison ivy jungles, the plant growing as ground creepers, tall stalks, vines, even tree-like shrubs. In all cases, it displays clusters of three serrated leaves (leaves of three—leave me be), though now more green than red, and less shiny. By September, blessedly, its leaves turn brightest red and then die back. (But beware! Even in winter, its stalks and vines still retain the oil. The vines—which range from wire thin to elephant-trunk thick—are covered with distinctive small "hairs.")
A persistent myth says you can "get poison ivy" from "the air" around the plant, but the reality is you need physical contact with it—or something else that has touched it.* So your best defense is to keep to the trails—our trail crew does its best to clear them—and to wear long-sleeved clothing, keeping in mind that the oil may be on them when you undress, including on your shoelaces. (Keep in mind, too, that a common way to come in contact with the oil is from Fido’s fur after an outing.)
Your favorite outdoors merchant can guide you to a number of state-of-the-art products now available, from soaps that break down poison ivy oil, to protective lotions you apply before you go out. And we hope you will take what consolation you may by remembering that the plant provides fine cover for much of our wildlife, including the birds who fill our woods with song—and who find the ivory-colored berries of Toxicodendron radicans simply delectable.
*This too is subject to some debate among experts—except for those "experts" among us to whom it’s happened…
Originally published in the June 1998 issue.
"The Perils of the Palisades"
Part II: Ixodes dammini
Like many outdoor enthusiasts, we‘ve become only too aware of Lyme Disease in recent years, having personally known several people who’ve contracted the ailment (in all cases, thankfully, they received successful treatment—a regimen of antibiotics—before it progressed too far). Even so, we felt our knowledge of the diminutive beast that spreads this bacterial infection was wanting. Just who is Ixodes dammini?
The "deer tick" has a two-year life cycle, during which it passes through four stages: egg, larva, nymph, and adult. Eggs are deposited in the spring, and the larvae emerge about a month later, barely larger than a pinhead and tan in color. They feed but once at this stage, in late summer. A favored host is the white-footed mouse—who happens to be a relatively common carrier of the Lyme bacteria. The tick can, unfortunately, retain the bacteria in its system throughout its other life stages, when it will feed on other hosts, possibly spreading the bacteria as it does so.
An estimated 25 – 50 percent of New Jersey's deer ticks are so infected.
The larvae remain dormant over the cooler months, and the following spring emerge as nymphs, now about the size of poppy seeds. They feed from May through August, mostly on larger animals, including birds, raccoons, opossum, squirrels, cats, dogs—and humans. Come fall, they make the final transition to adult, feeding primarily from September to November and again in March and April (at temperatures above 35°F, they can remain active even in winter). Come spring, they deposit their eggs and die, and the cycle begins anew.
The deer is the preferred host of the adult Ixodes dammini, though it will settle for other large mammals. The adult is the size of a sesame seed, the males black, the females having a red abdomen and a black "shield" near the head.
Because of the rhythm of its lifecycle, spring and fall are the most common times to get bit by a deer tick, when nymphs and adults are most likely to feed. The tick tends to "hunt" from the edges of trails and picnic areas, waiting for its host in tall grass or on shrubs. It cannot fly or hop, so must have its host brush against it, at which point it simply hitches on. It will then move about for an hour or more as it seeks a good place to draw blood. It is believed that the tick must then feed from 12 to 48 hours before it transmits the disease—and this may offer our best window for safety. Always inspect yourself carefully after spending time in the woods, especially in warm, hidden body areas, such as armpit, scalp, and groin. (The recommendation that you wear light colored clothing is made simply because it makes a tick easier to spot—it does not "repel" it.) If a tick has already latched on, the preferred procedure is to use tweezers gently to apply pressure on its "neck" until it lets go. Treat the bite area with antiseptic and save the tick for your doctor. (It is now believed that applying Vaseline or burning the tick can in fact cause it to disgorge its stomach contents—including, perhaps, Lyme bacteria.) If in doubt, always consult your physician—early diagnosis is key to effective treatment.
Long-sleeved clothing, pant legs tucked into socks, and use of insect repellents with the ingredient DEET are all effective tick prevention measures—and, best of all, scientists believe we are now closing in on a vaccine. In the meantime, Ixodes dammini will go on reminding us to take extra careful notice of the little things as we set out to explore the natural world.
Update: Read the most current information about Lyme Disease from the Centers for Disease Control & Prevention (CDC).
Originally published in the July 1998 issue.
"The Perils of the Palisades"
Part
III:
Agkistrodon contortrix
As far as we know, the copperhead is the only poisonous snake now found in the NJ Section of the Palisades Interstate Park, though we get occasional—unconfirmed—reports of rattlers (they’re relatively common in the New York sections of the park, and historically were here in New Jersey, as well). The good news is that our staff—and some go back quite a ways—can remember only very few cases of visitors getting bit by copperheads.
One reason is that the snake is extremely retiring by nature. It will normally flee at the approach of humans, or hold very still and attempt to rely on its camouflage, rather than bite. Its diet consists mainly of small mammals and frogs, though it will also feed on birds, insects, even other snakes. On those rare cases when humans do get bit, it’s usually the result of accidentally stepping on or touching one (never reach where you cannot see). The bite is rarely fatal, though it does demand prompt medical attention. As with the venom of many poisonous animals, it not only kills its prey, but it begins the process of breaking down the tissues preliminary to digestion.
The copperhead is a particularly attractive snake (we know that sounds to some like an oxymoron), about a yard long, with brown and reddish bands. Its head is un-banded and, as you might guess, copper-colored. This provides the clearest distinction between it and the non-poisonous milk snake, with which it is often confused: the milk snake’s bands continue onto its head; otherwise, they are almost identical.
We do need to mention, however, that it is not so unusual for dogs to get bit by copperheads. One in particular, three or four years back, comes to mind. Unfortunately, this dog ran and hid after it got bit, and it took the combined efforts of the owner and several staff members, over a good hour or so, to find it. It was a robust, nice looking dog, and the owner was understandably distraught. The bitten leg had swollen to several times its normal size, and the dog was clearly in pain. Once off the trails—with still more time lost—the owner got him to an animal hospital for treatment. One of our staff called the hospital that evening, only to learn that the dog would definitely live, but that there was a very good chance the leg would be amputated.
Just because we do care about animals, both domestic and wild (the dog was undoubtedly harassing the snake when he got bit), we can’t help feeling a bit taken back that visitors sometimes bristle when we ask them please to keep their pets leashed while on our trails. This park is, after all, a refuge for native wildlife. And some of that wildlife bites back.
Originally published in the August 1998 issue.