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238 IGUANA  •  VOLUME 15, NUMBER 4  •  DECEMBER 2008 GANGLOFF

A male Ornate Box Turtle (Terrapene ornata ornata) approaches a tasty Spiderwort (Tradescantia bracteata) for breakfast.



IGUANA  •  VOLUME 15, NUMBER 4  •  DECEMBER 2008 239COMMENTARY

The turtles have been watching me for two years now. Each
week during their active season, from late March until early

October, I’ve been visiting these Ornate Box Turtles (Terrapene
ornata ornata) in eastern Colorado. While I’m there, the turtles
observe me, if not eagerly then diligently, as I patiently patrol
the sandhills. By now, they are surely quite familiar with my
habits, where I park the car, the circuitous routes I roam, the reg-
ular visits to a puddle from an overflowing stocktank, and the
intensity of my groundward gaze. Occasionally, the turtles may
allow themselves to be spotted, although most of the time they
use their camouflage and silence to regard me without being
detected, confounding my best efforts to find them. They are
better at this than I am.

I visit these sandhills to study the turtles. This is a scientific
investigation, conducted only after extensive literature reviews,
the receipt of permits from the state, and time spent with other
researchers learning the art and skill of chelonian studies. We’re
using sound methods and working hard to produce data that
will inform scientists and the public alike (should we draw such
distinctions). We hope to better understand how turtles use the
land, how they find mates, and what it is, exactly, that they do
all day. Ideally, this information will be used to influence deci-
sions and policy, both private and public, that impact these ani-
mals and the stark landscapes to which they belong. Hopefully,
roads will not be built, strip-malls won’t be constructed, and ani-
mals won’t be stolen for the pet trade. We know, of course, that
we don’t want these things to happen, that turtles don’t want
these things to happen — but, to convince others, we’ll need
numbers and facts, charts and graphs.

The reason we founded the Colorado Box Turtle Project is
simple; we love these animals and we want to protect them. Does
this passion obfuscate our science? Of course not. Ardor is the
impetus for science. Too often, animals, plants, and ecosystems
are intensely studied so that they can be efficiently exploited:
How do we best clear-cut a forest? dam a river? Herpetologists,
thankfully, seem to operate largely outside this questionable par-
adigm. The study of reptiles and amphibians offers little in the
way of economic benefits. We are not providing data to increase
the bottom line of major corporations or, for that matter, our-
selves. We dedicate ourselves for other reasons — we care about
these fascinating animals, their well being, and their future.

As field researchers, we must recognize that our studies are
a mutual exchange; just as we are collecting data about turtles,
they are doing the same on us (although most likely in less quan-
tifiable terms). My intention on the sandhills is not merely to
accrue scientific data about turtles, but to build a relationship
with these animals and the place they call home. This summer,

partly due to expensive gasoline and partly due to my preference
for sleeping under the stars, I timed my visits to make the best
of the turtles’ activity periods. I worked in the evening once the
air had cooled, spent the night in the company of the rising
moon and curious beetles, then worked again in the morning
before the heat of midday became thick and tangible. I wanted
to know this place in a way beyond what can be garnered with
calipers and GPS units. I hoped to at least become a welcome
visitor in a place to which I’ll never fully belong. I learned that
not finding a turtle for hours on end was not a waste of time,
but a valuable endeavor in itself. I watched the different plants
and noted their blooming schedules: The early-summer ubiq-
uity of Spiderwort (Tradescantia bracteata) and the delicate, late
blooms of the Sand Lily (Mentzelia nuda), the spinsters of the
sandhills who wait until midsummer to display their magnifi-
cence. I learned to distinguish the three species of Opuntia cac-
tus (O. macrorhiza, O. fragilis, and O. polyacantha) and how the
Sand Verbena’s (Abronia fragrans) deliciously sweet scent earned
it a fitting Latin name. I watched wide-eyed as miniature lizards,
the Lesser Earless Lizards (Holbrookia maculata) and the Prairie
and Plateau lizards (Sceloporus undulatus), scurried across open
sand at remarkable speeds, despite emerging from eggs only days
earlier. While rewarding in itself, these interactions also helped
me to better understand the turtles I sought. To really get to
know someone, sometimes it’s best to ask the neighbors.

Occasionally, however, my visits were not well received.
One July evening, as I was driving through the expansive ranch
and farm on which our study site sits, I approached a Red-tailed
Hawk (Buteo jamaicensis) perched on a fencepost. She flew par-

C O M M E N T A R Y

The Turtles Have Been Watching Me
Eric Gangloff

Colorado Box Turtle Project & Colorado Reptile Humane Society (eric@corhs.org)

Photographs by the author.

A male turtle tells us very politely that he’d prefer not to be bothered
today — thank you very much.



allel with the car for a few moments, as if in greeting — or that’s
what I thought at the time. Several hours later, after finding a
fresh road-killed turtle (the first I’d observed on the ranch), and
a frantic hour spent in search of a new and expensive camera I
thought was lost, I realized that she was not greeting, but warn-
ing. Now when I see a Red-tailed Hawk, it’s a great reminder to
drive slowly and keep my head on straight. Other birds are less

240 IGUANA  •  VOLUME 15, NUMBER 4  •  DECEMBER 2008 GANGLOFF

The fragrant Sand Verbena (Abronia fragrans) in bloom. A male turtle in the long shadows of morning.

Yucca (Yucca glauca) in bloom.

The morning sun reflects off the grasses of the sandhills, mostly
Thread-and-needle Grass (Stipa comata).

A female turtle enjoys the morning sun amidst the grasses of the sandhills.



apt to remind me of anything other than the fact that I don’t
entirely belong here. Mourning Doves (Zenaida macroura) can
explode with frightening rapidity from a nearby Sagebrush
(Artemisia filifolia) and the Killdeer (Charadrius vociferus) make
it clear, in no uncertain terms, that I should leave. Their perfec-
tion of the art of distraction, via shrill warning cries and ridicu-
lous antics, have earned them, even more than the Sand
Verbena, the perfect Latin name. Less dramatic but no less pre-
scient, the Prairie Rattlesnake (Crotalus viridis) provides its own
alarm, so unique and poignant it is, thankfully, impossible not
to heed. While I have thoroughly enjoyed this intimacy with the
sandhills and their residents, it is the turtles who have brought
me here. Each time I spot one, usually from an embarrassingly
close distance from which the turtle has been observing me for
several minutes, I feel a burst of delight. Here’s a turtle! In the
wild! It’s healthy! And living where it should! I stop and photo-
graph the animal where it is before doing anything else, noting
direction and vegetation. Sometimes, I pause and watch for a
time to see what the turtle will do. The answer, invariably, is the
same — nothing. The turtle has long since stopped its task at
hand and waits, patiently, for me to move on so it can resume.
When processing the animals, I can’t help but be enamored of
the vibrant and distinctive sunbursts on each carapace scute, the
deep, patient gaze of the wizened females and the showy green-
blue-orange of a male’s head and forelegs. Sometimes, I must
abashedly admit, I talk to the turtles. No, I must be honest, I
always talk to the turtles. I call them “sweetie” and “handsome”
and “beautiful” or other terms of endearment usually reserved
for children and spouses. Once, an intern from the local univer-

IGUANA  •  VOLUME 15, NUMBER 4  •  DECEMBER 2008 241COMMENTARY

A male chows on a box turtle favorite (Spiderwort, Tradescantia bracteata).

An exuberant stand of Prickly Poppy (Argemone polyanthemos).



sity sarcastically commented, “That’s real scientific, Eric.” Of
course it’s not, but it doesn’t hurt the scientific. For science to be
pertinent and powerful in the dire circumstances of our world,
the days of dispassion must be over. If we do not care about the
objects of our study, we risk perpetuating the damage of past
endeavors done in the name of science.

I recently read a book that beseeched us humans to start lis-
tening to the natural world, not in a metaphorical sense but in
the literal sense. We had much to learn, the author claimed,

from the trees and coyotes and rivers. The book was unscientific
and, at times, proudly so. I don’t see this as a shortcoming com-
pared to the rigors of scientific investigation, only a difference of
approach to the same quest for knowledge and understanding.
I’ve also read countless papers and journal articles about box tur-
tles and sandhill ecosystems, all facts and figures and irrefutable
numbers. I’ve learned a great deal from these as well, and do not
grow bored from their lack of personal voice or narrative. They
help me better understand an animal to which I’ve dedicated a
great deal of my life’s energy. These differing approaches should
not be held in opposition; rather, we must rededicate ourselves
to serving this world around us, our friends and neighbors, with
both inquiry and passion, hard facts and endearing nicknames.
Derrick Jensen, author of the aforementioned book, stated that
the question we should be asking is, “What can I learn from this
forest [or sandhill] community that will teach me to better serve
it?” I am lucky to have learned what I have about these turtles,
activity periods and size-to-mass ratios and habitat preferences.
Hopefully, we can put this knowledge to use in service of these
turtles and their fellow sandhill residents. I am also lucky to have
learned from these turtles to stop walking when I want to look
around and to be patient when coming or going, valuable les-
sons that are applicable beyond the sandhills. This learning is at
once quantifiable and profound. It is meticulous. It is fueled by
passion. Science, in these times, cannot afford to be otherwise.

242 IGUANA  •  VOLUME 15, NUMBER 4  •  DECEMBER 2008 GANGLOFF

A male turtle begins his morning rounds.

A female turtle walks off after a morning drink at the stock tank over-
flow puddle.

A male turtle watches the sunrise over his beloved sandhills.

A male turtle strikes a frightening pose to ward us off; he was unsuc-
cessful.

A Lesser Earless Lizard (Holbrookia maculata) pauses in ready curiosity.




