I thank Outex and Isotta brands for supporting my under water images work. You’re the best!
– OUTEX
– ISOTTA
Thanks to Laowa for making the probe lens and permitting me to obtain the “watchful male” images with that amazing unique perspective.
– LAOWA
Thanks to Antonio Romano for providing me the scientific papers about mating behavior, so I could write something logic about it.
Thanks to my beloved Elena for being so damn perfect and for enjoying with me long hours and humid nights in search of standing up males and underwater females
The spectacular spectacled salamanders: Salamandrina perspicillata
Italy is home to two species of endemic and unique salamanders: Salamandrina perspicillata and S. terdigitata
There’s one thing that’s certain when it comes to Italy: this bridge over the Mediterranean is a melting pot of delicious biodiversity. No matter where you look, you’re likely to be close to an endemic species found nowhere else on Earth.
Salamandrina perspicillata, along with its sister species S. terdigitata, is undoubtedly among the top endemic animals a passionate nature lover would hope to encounter while exploring this country.
I’ve been following this species throughout the Apennine Mountains since I was a little boy, and they never cease to amaze me.
At first glance, their matchstick-thin bodies might make them look as though they’re on the verge of starvation, and their dull, rather uniform coloring on their back certainly doesn’t help them make it into the top ten most beautiful animals.
Yet there’s something about them that instantly catches the eye of a true observer—someone who stops and takes a second, longer look.
They’re different.
And that, for me, is a magnet for attention.
They’re not sickly-thin at all; it’s as if they were sculpted from dark matter—spine and ribs visible, yes—but wrapped in a healthy, textured skin. They are salamanders, but their dorsal skin is unlike that of any other European smooth-skinned amphibian.
On their heads, a pale patch stretches from eye to eye, forming the “spectacles” that give them their common name.
But the true “spectacle” lies below.
The belly is mottled white and brown, fading into a vivid red near the cloaca and tail—this species’ real warning weapon.
When startled, it can arch its body upward to display the bright coloration on the underside of its tail and legs—a behavior known as unkenreflex, which they share with other amphibians like the American Taricha newts or the European fire-bellied and yellow-bellied toads of the genus Bombina.
Aside from their appearance, this species is very shy. I usually find them on the forest floor when I flip over stones and fallen logs in search of them (please, always remember to carefully put the stones back—every flipped stone is a hidden world for creatures that thrive in darkness and moisture).
But there are two particular moments in spring when these amphibians become much more visible—if you know where to look.
On warm, humid nights between March and April, I often find many males on forest paths. They stand tall, their front limbs fully extended—sometimes even lifting themselves into a nose-up position, balancing between their hind legs and tail. These “watchful” or “stand-up” behaviors have been observed by several herpetologists, including my friends Antonio Romano and Giacomo Bruni. It’s thought to be a way for the males to better scan their surroundings—either to spot a potential mate or to chase away rivals.
On some nights, there were so many males in this posture that I worried about stepping on one. I moved slowly, carefully watching each step I took.
If a male is lucky, a female passes by, and they begin a courtship dance, circling each other. If all goes well, she’ll pick up the male’s spermatophore with her cloaca to fertilize her eggs.
The second—and perhaps even more remarkable—moment when Salamandrina becomes visible in large numbers is when females gather at water sources to lay their eggs.
This can happen as early as December, but more often it’s around March or April. They quietly slip into calm parts of streams—places full of rocks and submerged branches—to attach their eggs to the substrate and offer their population a fresh start. The pearl-like eggs, encased in protective jelly, develop and hatch into tiny larvae.
In some places, when I arrived at just the right time, laying females were in nearly every corner of the pool, with eggs already scattered across the rocks and wood. It’s a breathtaking event to witness—one that lasts only a few days or, at most, a couple of weeks.
After laying their eggs, the females return to their shy, terrestrial life among leaf litter and underground shelters.
Documenting the life history of this unique species hasn’t been easy—and it’s a work in progress that will probably never truly end. I simply love going back to see them again and again.
Every encounter matters, and I just love being there with them.
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