As the title of this one suggests, I was recently in Alabama. The crew headed up to the Tuskegee National Forest near Auburn to catch one of those rain/breeding events I mentioned in my last post (which was awesome). This Alabama expedition was brief, but not without some cool experiences. We camped out in the yard of Roger Birkhead and Chelsea Ward, a cool couple with three awesome kids, two cats, and an amazing property. They fed us delicious home-cooked meals and allowed us to use their house for our bathroom and laundry needs. Their generosity was incredible.
The frogs in the area were
not as kind to us, at least at first. We found a small number of pairs in the beginning, which
gave us a few nights to test. Then some rain passed through. In a bizarre turn of
events the frogs (still Pseudacris feriarum) did not
immediately respond to that particular rainstorm. They do not always play by
the rules. Or maybe there are no rules. Nobody really knows.
On a calm evening, along
the dusty roads of Tuskegee National Forest we listened for chorusing activity,
which tends to signify breeding. All was silent. I began saying something about the forest being pathetically small and dead. On cue we heard a substantial Pseudacris
feriarum chorus just off the road. We quickly got out and collected a few
pairs, then rushed back to the trailer to begin what looked like a short night of
testing. I then elected to check our original breeding sites on my own, just to
make sure this was not an isolated pocket of mating frogs. WHABBAM! More pairs.
I was jogging along the roadside ditches and scooping them up one by one. I
think I caught 59 that evening: my new record. On a night
with almost no chorusing the three of us were overwhelmed with frogs to test. We stayed up
until 8AM that night/morning, and 4AM the next one doing our tests on the
female frogs.
Each container has a female frog inside
During our tests we had a
miracle frog. She was insanely gravid (tremendously egg-filled), which
theoretically indicates higher responsiveness to the tests. We only needed one
more data point to call it a night (and finish the state of Alabama).
Naturally, we were excited and hopeful. When Alyssa started the test, speakers
alternating calls, this frog showed promise. She swam to a speaker rapidly.
YES. But then she changed course. NO. The front of a speaker must be touched for it to count. She just missed her target, as it appeared. I lost my
cool. So many of the previous tests had gone this way! We had other frogs
acclimating to our testing temperatures, but they required at least another hour. That
meant we would have to wait a full hour before testing the next one! And that
meant one more hour of being awake! We had been up and working for AT LEAST 36
of the previous 48 hours. In addition, we had been working all week.
After missing the speaker
by an inch the aggravating frog started to climb up the wall of the testing
pool. That normally results in disqualification, which ends the test. I opened
the door to our soundproof chamber and yelled at the little "waste of
life" that was our frog. Then I shut the door and closed my eyes, mentally
preparing myself for at least another hour of wakefulness. How many energy
drinks had I consumed? Three or four, I think. During my moment of
contemplation, with the calls still playing in the chamber, the frog jumped
down and swam to a speaker. She touched it! Night OVER. Done with work in
Alabama. The three of us started laughing in a sleep-deprived, energy
drink-fueled state of joy and confusion. Did that really happen?! SLEEP?! It was a miracle. A
couple days later we headed back to Tallahassee, after releasing our many many
froggy friends back to their comfy ditch homes. Good work ladies.
Besides unexpected frog luck we also found a
lot of salamanders in Alabama! In case you were not already aware, I am a big
lover of that group of amphibians. I studied the Roughskin Newt (Taricha
granulosa) for my undergraduate thesis at Willamette University. Newts are salamanders, by
the way. All salamanders are super cool. We found them in ditches, under logs,
and in a pond on the property where we were camping.
Central Red-spotted Newt (Notophthalmus viridescens viridescens)
Speaking of salamanders, I
have one quick tale about a salamander. After our week in Alabama we returned
to Tallahassee. There was rain and a possibility of more frogs to test in the
area. Thankfully things did not happen that way. We were in desperate need of a
break after working so many long days and nights! Additionaly, we were
fortunate to be around when Dr. Bruce Means, a legend in herpetology, was
taking a group of students from FSU on a field trip. With the day off we excitedly signed up.
The field trip took us into the familiar
Apalachicola National Forest, to a cool area known as a "steephead"
habitat. Basically, it is ravine-like awesomeness. Dr. Means showed us a
critically endangered species of yew tree, and then took us to a small stream.
The goal was to find salamanders: Apalachicola Dusky Salamander (Desmognathus
apalachicolae), Southern Two-lined Salamander (Eurycea cirrigera),
and the grand prize, Red Salamander (Pseudotriton ruber). I joined in on
the fun with students that were digging through the vast leaf litter. Everyone
was uncovering salamanders. A couple juvenile Red Salamanders were found, but
no adults of that species. I got tired of bumping elbows with fellow sally
searchers, so I moved downstream near a rotting log. Dr. Means announced that
we still needed an adult Red Salamander. He
explained that this species tends to spend its time in little burrows
in the soil, occasionally poking its head out, probably for food.
Apalachicola Dusky Salamander
I was determined to find
one. I tried and failed lifting up my rotting log. I was sure it concealed some sort of herpetological prize. No way to know. I resorted back to digging
in the leaf litter. My body was low to the ground, and I carefully sifted through
leaves. There were little Apalachicola Dusky Salamanders squirming around. Meh. Then something caught my eye. A tiny hole in the mud! And... wait
what!? A little head poked out for a second. I got much closer. The head poked out once more. It must be a Red Salamander! GREAT SUCCESS. I watched it
repeat this behavior for a while longer, and showed it to a few people. This
would be a completely new salamander for me to catch. I felt bad to dig it out, but it was
for Dr. Means, the class, and science, as well as my own curiosity and pride. I clawed in
the mud for a few minutes until the poor critter was in my hand, unharmed but
probably terrified. I brought it to Dr. Means, who announced his approval and
had it passed around to the members of the class. It became the subject of
numerous pictures.
RED SALAMANDER
My pals Alyssa, John, and Hannah getting their pictures too
I tried to avoid taking too many snapshots of the little dude. I tried. It was so fun to get a close look at it, especially after witnessing its behavior in the burrow. I hope it was able to make a new one!
The rest of the field trip was also great! Dr. Means led us along a stream, sharing his knowledge of every plant and animal we encountered. It concluded with a hike in a part of the Apalachicola River floodplain where fog was rising from the ground. Someone found a turtle and a cool fungus. I would have loved this class in college! Better late than never.
When the weather gets warm and the rain starts falling, usually that is a sign of what is to come: a chorus frog breeding event. The day will feel a little muggy, depending on your standards for mugginess it might border on gross, and then the clouds will darken. In the southeastern United States you get powerful storms, storms where all the rain you could imagine shoots out of the clouds in a violent burst. It is like someone tore the bottom right out the clouds themselves, allowing their innards to fall freely to the Earth, only in a continuous manner. And maybe with a little more force. Seriously. For an arid climate native the first real storm experience out here is eye-opening. To me it was some flash flood level storm action that first time in South Carolina. Now, on my third tour of duty in this part of the country, I am sort of adapted to it. So are the chorus frogs.
The species I am working with, Pseudacris feriarum, seems to rely on the warm weather/heavy rain combination in order to continue their lineage. They come out to their roadside ditch breeding ponds in droves during such weather events. Thus, a huge part of my job is to follow the weather and take advantage of what can be a rather small window of opportunity to locate breeding frogs. They do not generally hang around for long to mate. Eggs must be laid so tadpoles may develop and metamorphose before the newly filled ditches dry up.
But enough of the science behind it! I have a story!
Near Tallahassee, deep in the Apalachicola National Forest, somewhere north of Sumatra (pronounce the first "a" like the start of the word "apple" and you will know how to properly say that dumpy little town's name), there is a place called "Plague Puddle." It is so named due to a reported plague of frogs a few years ago when Dr. Lemmon and her husband, also a Dr. Lemmon, went out looking for mating pairs of frogs. Anyway, upon my arrival this winter I was told to visit this place when the next local storm hit.
Well, as you already guessed, that next storm did hit. I was just getting back into the swing of things as the crew leader, and my first meaningful decision was to have us split up into two vehicles for the night ahead. John and Alyssa were in one car, and myself and lab member/honorary crew member of the night Sarah took the work truck. John's car would scour the long ditches along the highway heading toward my destination, which was of course Plague Puddle. The multi-car approach would be advantageous for hitting more breeding sites at once, improving our odds of catching many frogs in amplexus (remember, that means mating).
It is a long drive to Plague Puddle from Tallahassee. Maybe an hour and a half. The turn off the highway is marked by a sign stating "WATCH CHILDREN." Not too much farther. As we approached the normal Plague Puddle parking spot I totally screwed up and drove past it. I am a crew leader, not a super hero. I found a convenient spot to turn around that was not too close to the creepy stilt-house community of hunting shacks down the road. Windows down, we lulled to a halt next to our destination from the other direction. And that is when it began. SO MUCH CHORUSING. The frogs were going wild! Even from the road they were impressively loud. It was impossible to distinguish the individuals calling within the chorus. Were there 30? 40? 50? More? Who knows.
(The video below is a daytime chorus of about 20 male Pseudacris feriarum in Alabama. Just double or triple it and you will begin to understand Plague Puddle.)
Safety comes in numbers
We quickly exited the truck, equipping boots and headlamps, and stuffing our pockets with our Ziploc holding cells for the frog pairs. As Sarah and I crested a small hill we saw the first pond, a crater-like wasteland with almost zero emergent vegetation. Basically crappy habitat if you ask me. In that little cesspool we found a fair few pairs of frogs in amplexus. Some were floating lazily in the middle, forcing me to sacrifice my comfortably dry feet for the sake of science. Other pairs were more kind, clinging to the few little stems poking out near the water's edge. We cleared the place of all its happily joined lovers in minutes. Then it was decided, almost without words, that we must go a few more yards into the woods to tackle the booming chorus at Plague Puddle.
The hubbub was about as close to deafening as a frog chorus can be. It goes beyond description. When there are that many male frogs calling so loudly they will completely ignore intruders, even those that stomp into the water with bright lights on their heads. My best explanation for this behavior is that they figure their odds of being the one harmed is quite low, so why quiet down? Besides, there is mating to be done! There might not be another chance. I crept off the shore into the shallow water with my eyes peeled. Immediately: "PAIR! Another pair! Holy @#$% another pair! This is crazy! Are you seeing this? Can you even hear me?!" It was a true frenzy. Pairs of frogs seemed to show up out of nowhere. One stick could have 2 or 3 of them, just biding their time, being all amplectic and whatnot. Some pairs would emerge from the depths without warning, sometimes right in front of me. I used up all of my bags before taking 10 steps. As I scrambled back to the truck for more Sarah continued collecting pair after pair of the hyped up little frogs. Fortunately I had some random extra bags (from Ecuador) that were giant and vacuum sealed; the type you must fiddle with incessantly to get open, and then tie up in order to close. It can be a 30-second process for each bag, if it behaves. Perfect... At one point I was frantically ripping at a bag to get it open as I saw 1, wait no 2, uh oh 3, really? 4, 5, and finally 6 pairs sitting in the open in front of me! I did my best not to completely lose my mind. Remember, this is all time-sensitive, and each pair goes in a separate bag. Once we catch a bunch of these frogs we must go back to our trailer, set up the testing chambers, and do a lot of preparation work before even beginning our testing that very same night! Oh the energy drinks that were to ensue!
Pair in the making?
I hurried. Of course I had to watch events unfold in front of me as I struggled. There might be another pair ready to surface from the piney deep (lots of pine needles in the pond), and I would need to catch them all after the other 6 already plain in view. That was when I saw something new and exciting. I might even call it tremendously fascinating for my best David Attenborough impression. It was something I did not see all of last field season. I bore witness to the formation of a mating pair! It might not sound that exciting, but I swear it was. Here is the scene: I was mumbling something about "all these stupid frogs" and their needing to shut up. I saw a jubilant little male calling from a floating stick in the water no more than 2 feet from my right boot. He called and called, his vocal sac inflating and deflating rapidly. The surrounding chorus was so loud that I could hardly make out his song distinctly. He was far from alone out here. Apparently a nearby female did not have as much difficulty picking him out from the bunch. I saw the bloated, egg-filled female frog bumble along in the water in his direction. She met him on his floating debris, facing him with her head turned, aiming her right tympanum (frog ear) in his direction to make sure he was the one. I watched with anticipation. Nothing. It felt like several seconds had gone by, and he still had not made his move. Come on frog! She wants you to jump on her and get it started! Still nothing. Then out of nowhere Miss Feriarum pile-drived her head into him two quick times. It was as if she was saying, "Okay, I made up my mind. We should mate." He responded by jumping on her back and clasping around her body instantly. PAIR! I tried to explain to Sarah what just happened. The chorus was too loud for an eloquent description.
I triple frog dare you!
Events like the one I just described are what make this job worthwhile to me. The timing of all the elements is so crucial that it is rare to enjoy such an up-close display of froggy courtship. I am often in too much of a hurry collecting frogs to enjoy the unique time and place I am occupying. It is not every day that you see this stuff. A booming chorus of frog love must be properly appreciated. On that night I got it right.
An interesting side note: Sarah found herself a silly little trifecta of frogs that same night. It was an awkward stack of male-male-female amplexus. This happens in loud choruses, probably because the males get confused and are too amped up to think twice about who they are jumping on and clasping. The cause could also be that the topmost male was trying to steal or reclaim a mate. Either way it was a really cool find, of which Sarah was proud. If I had a frogging ego I would be jealous of her find... I swear I got over it.
Alright, I would like to thank you for reading this account of my first experience at Plague Puddle. I have done a lot more in the field since, and I will try to put together my next story while I have the time. Writing a blog is tough when one oscillates between the diurnal and nocturnal lifestyle. I hope to crank another one out soon!
Finally! I have made the decision to write another blog post. First, to clarify - NO, I am not in South America now. I apologize for the confusion, since my blog's title is still "Andes, Amazon, and Herpetology." I did not want to create a whole new blog just to put a post or two up. And besides, my life is currently focused on herpetology, making this post 1/3 relevant. In case you have forgotten, herpetology is the study of reptiles and amphibians.
So here is the scoop...
What: Same job as last winter
Where: Lots of places. So far: Tallahassee, Auburn (AL), Tallahassee again. Coming up: Wherever rain and warm weather happen.
Who: Me, Alyssa (also returning from last year), John, and Dr. Emily Lemmon and her lab
Why: FWOGS
Okay, now to elaborate a bit. I am currently working as the field crew leader for a big research project led by Dr. Emily Lemmon of Florida State University. I had the same position last winter. It is a temporary job (10 weeks or something), and it involves lots of travel, frog-catching, and insane working hours. I will do my best to explain what the greater project is, as well as my role.
Range map, courtesy of SREL
Here is an important term: reproductive character displacement. What the devil does that mean? Here is an example that just so happens to be directly related to Dr. Lemmon's research. So there is this frog called the Upland Chorus Frog (Pseudacris feriarum). They live throughout a very large portion of the United States, from New Jersey down through Appalachia and across the Bible Belt into eastern Texas. All over its range, these guys have different "contact zones"
with other trilling chorus frogs (frogs that sound sort of similar to them). In each of those contact zones the male frogs have slightly altered their call, making them stand out more from their trilling chorus frog brethren. And that, my friends, is an example of reproductive character displacement. Cool, eh? The answer is a resounding yeah, with a Southern accent.
Now then, we can talk about what this job of mine is all about. For her research Dr. Lemmon is interested in this reproductive character displacement business I mentioned a second ago. But for this portion of her research she is not investigating the changes in mating calls of male frogs. Instead, she is studying the selectiveness displayed by Upland Chorus Frog females! Can they detect the minor differences between their local males in Tuskegee National Forest and those guys with that special North Carolina twang out in Uwharrie National Forest? That is where I come in. I am in charge of leading a small field crew (myself, Alyssa, and John) in finding female frogs and performing cruel tests to see which mating calls they are most receptive to. The aforementioned tests most often take place in soundproof chambers within a trailer that we (I) haul across the Earth and back.
"Are y'all part of a traveling circus?" Yes, this thing is full of clowns and elephants.
Male Pseudacris feriarum thinking it knows how to hide
Inside the testing chambers we have a plastic kiddie pool filled partially with water. Also in the pool, on opposite sides, are two speakers. For the tests we place a female frog in the middle and play different mating calls from each speaker in an alternating fashion. Then we watch in agony as the frog sits, waits, turns its head, jumps, swims, climbs up the edge of the pool, and escapes. Not all frogs respond in this way, but a lot do. Others fail to get past the "sits" part before 5 or 10 minutes go by. They get disqualified, and the next frog is then tested. Performing these tests requires patience, and caffeine. Did I mention this all happens at night? No I did not... Well it does. We usually start our testing in the late evening and continue on until anywhere between midnight and 8AM. And I thought I was done with all-nighters after completing that awesome sketchbook I made for art class in college... Okay, and I know I already mentioned caffeine. But I am mentioning it again. It is vital.
Female (bottom), male (top) in amplexus
Now you are probably wondering, "Where on Earth do these poor frogs come from to end up in a soundproof catcall center?" The answer is, we go out in the evening and catch the suckers in beautiful wetlands, usually in the form of dirty roadside ditches. The way we do it is by driving around somewhat aimlessly (if in an unfamiliar area) in the hopes of hearing our frogs chorusing (hence the name "chorus frog"). The frogs are most likely to chorus and mate when there has been recent rain and the temperatures are between tolerably frigid and warm. When we hear a substantial chorus I pull the big old work truck off the shoulder, put on the flashers, and we suit up in rubber boots and headlamps. We wear other clothes too. Even a tight-knit field crew has boundaries. With headlamps equipped the crew scours the flooded ditches for our frogs. Single males are usually pretty easy to find because they are numerous make so much noise. We pay them no mind. Not only do we need females; we need frogs in amplexus, also called mating pairs. We must capture the lovers in the midst of procreation, separate them out, and test the females back at the trailer. The reason we go for mating pairs is that those females have already proven they are gravid ("in the mood") and are more likely to succumb to the allure of a speaker that sounds like a frog.
The workplace. Remember what I said about caffeine?
We have a series of 7 tests we conduct on female frogs. Once we get 20 or so total responses we check that test off the list. Once all 7 tests have an adequate number of results we move on to a new location to do it all again. This field season we tried to finish up testing frogs in the Apalachicola National Forest near Tallahassee, Florida before giving up and heading to Tuskegee National Forest near Auburn, Alabama. We finished up our work in Alabama in only a week, which means we are giving Tally's frogs another shot. Once we complete our work here there are a couple options, which I will not talk about just yet. I am not one for spoilers. Last year we spent time in the Carolinas, as illustrated on my awesome map.
The Carolinas are SO last year
There is a LOT more detail I could go into about my job, from the caffeine-filled IVs I rely upon to the frogs themselves. Instead, you can just ask me stuff. As a warning, I am horrible at finding time to talk on the phone with people from other time zones, and I often refuse to spend my free time doing anything other than sleeping or playing basketball. What I am getting at is, you might not get an answer from me right away, and I am sorry. This blog post is simply meant to be an overview. My next blog post will have cool stories and pictures and such, I promise!
