On an overcast day at the end of January, two dozen people gathered around a seasonal wetland deep within a longleaf pine savannah in northwestern Florida. In their hands they carried plastic tupperware containers filled halfway with water and harboring precious cargo: baby reticulated flatwoods salamanders. Still in their larval phase, the amphibians didn’t look like much—they were under an inch long and striped brown, with oversized heads, feathery gills, and tiny legs. But their very presence in this wetland was the culmination of decades of work, and a landmark moment for the future of conservation in the South.
Two things made this situation special: The reticulated flatwoods salamander is federally endangered, and this release happened on private land.
Alex Hinson, the president of Resource Management Service, LLC (RMS), a sustainability-minded timber company that manages vast tracts of land across the South, including this one, was the first to let his salamanders swim out into the murky water and disappear. A host of partners followed suit, including representatives from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, the Longleaf Pine Alliance, the Gulf Coastal Plain Ecosystem Partnership, and the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission. In total, fifty salamanders entered their new home, representing the first usage of a new agreement that allows exactly this kind of thing to happen.
“We have spent years figuring out a way to reintroduce a federally listed species to private land without regulatory risk to landowner or neighbors,” says Jimmy Bullock, the senior vice president of forest sustainability at RMS and the driving force behind the agreement. Now, other private landowners and companies also can use the initiative, called the Partners for Fish and Wildlife Program, to share in conservation efforts for endangered species, which were long limited to public lands. “I got an email already from a friendly competitor asking for the template agreement who is thinking about reintroducing an aquatic species in the Pacific Northwest,” Bullock says.
Until recently, a landowner didn’t have a lot of incentive to aid in the recovery of a federally endangered species, as it put them in the crosshairs of federal oversight, regulation, and at worst, legal action under the Endangered Species Act. “This is voluntary conservation, and you can’t get cooperation when you’re waving a big stick of threats at people,” explains JJ Apodaca of the Amphibian and Reptile Conservancy, another partner in the recovery of the reticulated flatwoods salamander. “This is a huge step forward.” After all, over 90 percent of land in the Southeast is in private hands. “Percetage-wise, trying to recover an endangered species here without private landowners would be like trying to win a football game with two players,” Apodaca says. “It might be possible, but it’s a hell of a lot harder.”
Take the reticulated flatwoods salamander: Historically they lived in the longleaf pine-wiregrass flatwoods and savannas that once covered 32 million acres of the South. But today, just 5.6 million of those acres remain, and the salamanders have almost disappeared completely. In recent years, biologists have documented their presence in just six Florida wetlands, mostly on Eglin Air Force Base.
The need to get more salamanders on the landscape, therefore, is pressing, and RMS had just the place—a tract of land they manage in Santa Rosa County. “Our client had already made a commitment to conservation,” Bullock says, “and the reticulated flatwoods salamander was historically found on the property.” RMS had also spent years converting the forest from loblolly pine back to a functioning longleaf pine ecosystem while retaining the ability to sustainably harvest trees.
The life cycle of the reticulated flatwoods salamander has been fine-tuned over millennia to match the rhythms of that longleaf ecosystem. In late fall, females travel to dried-up ephemeral wetlands and lay their eggs in clumps around native wiregrasses, making a bet that their selected pond will fill. When it does, the larvae hatch, eat, and grow in a fish-free environment until they’re ready to crawl out onto land.
The RMS-managed property—which they periodically burn to mimic the frequent fire of historic longleaf pine systems—now hosts a native species that had been absent for decades. “It was amazing,” Bullock says, “to watch those salamanders swim away, knowing they had not been on this land for thirty-five years or more.” The moment represented something he has strived for over the entirety of his decades-spanning career in forestry for the private sector. In working to conserve a wide range of species, from the iconic Louisiana black bear to the little-known Red Hills salamander, Bullock has fostered collaborative efforts across public and private sectors, and promoted the idea that working lands can stay working while still providing quality habitat for wildlife.
RMS plans to release more baby salamanders from Eglin Air Force Base next year, and Bullock hopes to keep unlocking the potential from this landmark step forward. Already, he and Hinson have spearheaded a new initiative that allows monitoring for federally endangered species on private land, among them the northern long-eared bat. “It’s an exciting time to be in conservation,” he says. “We are honored that our partners trust us enough to care for the reticulated flatwoods salamander, and I know that this is just the beginning of getting more private lands involved in this important work for many other species to come.”
