Special Places, Special Frogs

SPECIAL PLACES, SPECIAL FROGS  
April 05 & April 07

We have been talking about frogs a lot these past couple of weeks. Mostly, it has been at a series of workshops I conducted on wildlife monitoring. People seem to like frogs, and I guess that is why we had about 30 enthusiastic wildlife monitors attending each of the sessions. With only seven or eight species occurring in the Quinte area, and all calling at different times of the spring, they are easy to learn. One person at the workshop last week reported hearing wood frogs, a species that doesn’t really seem to mind too much if it wakes up with a layer of ice covering its entire body. This species doesn’t bother to hibernate deep into the muck of a pond edge like leopard frogs do to escape the winter. It slides under a log somewhere, or beneath a thin layer of leaves, and allows itself to freeze completely through, except for its vital organs which it thoughtfully protects by a special solution that it manufactures in the fall before “hibernating.” A sort of anti-freeze, if you will.
By the time this is being read, some of the earlier wood frogs and chorus frogs, and perhaps, even spring peepers will have started to sing. It all depends on the weather. A few warm rains seems to jump start the chorus.
The chorus I enjoy hearing each spring in our marsh is delivered by the spring peepers, and it becomes so loud as darkness falls that we often have to close our bedroom windows in order to sleep. How anything so small – barely as large as the end of your little finger, can make a noise that loud is a mystery . The din can actually do damage to one’s ears, but from a distance – a great distance, mind you – they actually sound like a convergence of tiny sleigh bells.
We hear others too, coming from either a roadside ditch or a flooded woodland somewhere. These are chorus frogs, and they sound like so many fingernails being dragged lengthwise down the teeth of a comb.
There is such a variety of instrumentation out there in the frog chorale it actually becomes quite easy to identify them by voice alone. We all know the rattling snore of the leopard frog and they are no stranger to any of us, appearing everywhere, even on our lawns. At certain times of the year, they are so plentiful they actually become a hazzard on highways as hundreds of them hop from one side of the road to the other and become victims of traffic, creating a slimy and dangerous surface upon which to drive. Why they cross the highways in such numbers is probably nothing more than the explanation for the proverbial chicken – to get to the other side. The pickerel frog, seemingly rare in Prince Edward County, but encountered more commonly north of the Bay of Quinte, is similar in appearance to the leopard frog, but its long drawn out snore is quite different.
Later we will hear another frog, the “bong” note of the green frog. It closely resembles someone plucking a banjo string, and we hear them calling from the Big Island Marsh quite frequently, mixed in with the other invisible sounds that emanate nightly from the sedges and cattails.
We have a while to wait yet before we hear the bass chorus of the bullfrog. They are our largest frog, reaching an incredible six inches in size, and stories abound about these frogs consuming snakes, and creatures every bit as big as themselves. When breeding success is good in our marsh, their low bass notes commence one at a time, then as other bullfrogs quickly join in, suddenly explodes into a deafening crescendo that resembles an approaching thunderstorm.
There is another that comes still later – the grey tree frog. First timers hearing this sound are almost certain they have stumbled upon a mysterious bird of some sort, or perhaps a raccoon, as the sounds are similar. Often they appear to originate from trees, and likely they do, as this species’ feet have been cleverly provided with tiny suction cups which enable them to stick to just about anything. One cannot possibly have an appreciation for its extremely loud rattling trill, until a tree frog has crawled up the side of the house and has decided to call all night right beside an open window. It was several days before I actually was able to locate the frog, but ended up leaving it there, I was so intrigued by its call.
The long, wavering trill of the toad will be on the scene before we know it, but one toad we don’t hear in this part of Ontario is the Fowler’s toad. Its range is confined to a small strip along Lake Erie where populations from the United States have managed to make their way across the border. Its call, like that of a bleating sheep or the cry of a baby, is spooky when heard on a still dark night, and seemed to add to the suspense in the Georgia based film 30 years ago, “Deliverance.” We also don’t hear the mink frog, except in areas near Highway 7 and north. This is the reason I enjoy visiting Algonquin Provincial Park when I can as they are quite numerous back there. Their “cut-cut-cut” sounds has been likened to horses trotting across a wooden bridge.
The frogs are out, and more will appear as the weather warms. Enjoy them while you can as they will become silent as summer draws near.