Frog Patrol

Day 115: I'm of the considered opinion that frog-stalking is more difficult than it was when I was a youngster. Either the little buggers are more sensitive to ground vibrations or I walk with a heavier tread these day, but whatever the reason, I seem to instigate a great commotion of splashes in the bogs long before I've laid eyes on a single frog.

I heard the first evidence of froggy frolics in a ditch beside the Bud Blancher Trail about ten days ago. It could have been a stick or fir cone dropping into the water, but for the fact that the splash was accompanied by an unmistakable chirp. When I next had occasion to approach a known "frog hollow," I was a good ten feet away when half a dozen alarms sounded from amphibian throats, and all I saw to confirm the existence of frogs were the ripples among the duckweed leaves. My next foray was done with great stealth, leading to this photo and my first actual sighting of the year. There's not much to go on with respect to making an identification beyond "Frog," so forgive me the omission of my customary scientific nomenclature. "Frog" will have to do for now.

Frog Stalking 101

Day 158: Not far above the point where the Westside Road crosses Fish Creek, the road takes a sudden dip where an old culvert collapsed during one of Tahoma Creek's many flooding tantrums. A trickle of the creek still flows there in the early season, its progress slowed by accumulated rock and sand. At present on the high side of the slump, there is a small pool, not much bigger than a bathtub (if not as deep), and as I approached it on my walk, I noticed ripples on the surface. As I got closer, I saw what I took to be a fish tail disappearing into a hollow beneath some rocks. "Sculpins," I remarked aloud as I walked past. "It's gotta be sculpins."

On the way back down the hill an hour or so later, I thought I'd try to sneak up on them, camera at the ready. Well back of the site, I slowed my pace and started inching forward with a soft and irregular gait. If you've read Frank Herbert's "Dune," my technique could be likened to that used by the Fremen in crossing the spice desert without awakening the sand-worms...step, drag, drag, step, step, wait, drag, step. At ten paces, a splash informed me that my stealth skills needed additional work. And then I spotted something which was not a rock. Neither was it a sculpin, as I'd supposed. I snapped a few long zoom shots for documentation purposes and then, risking all, began edging toward my quarry for a closer portrait.

I won't claim this as a testament to my frog-stalking ability, but rather will attribute it to the braveness of my little friend. I could not capture enough field characteristics to identify Froggus cutus due to the light on the water surface, but if you look carefully, you can see his little feet and hands.

Footnote: I referred Froggus cutus to an expert for identification: Rana cascadae, Cascades Frog.

Pacific Chorus Frog, Pseudacris Regilla

Day 158: Often heard but seldom seen, the little Pacific Chorus Frog is the Northwest's version of "spring peeper." A master of camouflage, this frog has the ability to change its markings as well as transform from green to brown, although it may take weeks or months for the alterations to occur. Unlike a chamaeleon, the frog does not change color to match its environment; rather, it changes in response to light as it is reflected by specialized cells in the amphibian's skin.

I was fortunate to stumble across this specimen today (almost literally!) as I was exploring the improved trail to the river at the Park's Tahoma Woods complex. I had checked out the area on my morning walk and found a lichen I wanted to photograph, but as is often the case on my walks, I only had the point-and-shoot camera with me. I came home, ate lunch and took a 15-minute break before heading out the door again, this time with the real camera and the tripod slung over my shoulder under my jacket. I looked a little lumpy, but better that than anyone thinking I was toting a rifle up the road. When I reached the river the second time, I set up for the lichen shot and was moving the tripod to get a different angle when a "leaf" jumped about a foot and landed with a plop. I stood perfectly still and searched with my eyes until I saw the unfoliose sheen of frog skin. Finding the little bugger with the lens was even harder! You can't imagine how thrilled I was to capture Pseudacris on "film" for the first time.

Lawrence Lake Adventure

Day 322: Although I've pretty much given up geocaching, the idea of adding a couple of "paddle caches" to my list of finds gives me an excuse to take the kayak out on a variety of relatively local waters. Because these caches are generally only accessible by boat ("special equipment"), they carry a five-star rating for terrain. Personally, I think that's rather liberal. A 20-mile backpacking trip, scuba dive, helicopter lift or technical rock climb rates no higher. But who am I to argue? I've walked to two paddle caches at low water, earning five stars for nothing more than getting a bit muddy or wet up to the thighs. Today's challenge, however, honestly required a watercraft or the ability to swim. I crossed a mere third of a mile of water, put in on a tiny island, and in less than fifty steps through light brush, had the cache in hand. That done, I was free to spend the rest of the day exploring the lake.

Lawrence Lake is largely surrounded by homes, many of which have a commanding view of Mount Rainier. The lake is approximately 330 acres and consists of a large kidney-shaped section running roughly north-south which connects with a smaller triangular bay to the southwest. The southeastern arm of the lake is shallow and filled with lily pads and cattails, and therefore provided a lure the naturalist could not resist. After making a full circuit of the lake, I decided to prowl among the reeds where only kayaks can go.

The wind had risen and the chop was on the main water, but among the lilies, it was relatively calm. I edged forward, making as little disturbance with the paddles as possible, but still startled dozens of frogs into great arcing leaps, chirping annoyance at me from mid-air. One brave soul stood his ground. When I spotted him, I stopped paddling and let the wind carry me toward his roost until the boat ran aground, but like his companions had done before him, he sprang into the air and came down with a splash as soon as I started to urge the boat out of the mud. Circling among stands of cattails, I found a water lily root on the surface, looking ever so much like a sea monster or scaly water dragon. The real thrill came when I spotted shorebirds. With the sun in my eyes, I couldn't tell what I was photographing. It was only when I got home and could adjust the shadows and pull up the details that I discovered my little friends were Semipalmated Plovers. There was a second species eating mud bugs alongside them, but I did not get a shot from which they could be identified.

I spent almost as much time in the reeds as I had spent paddling three miles on the lake. There was so much to see, from native and non-native water lilies to an odd corkscrewy aquatic which remains a puzzle to me. The swallows dipped and dived, picking insects off the water surface, and an osprey soared overhead. Reluctantly, I headed back to shore, three and a half hours on the water spent, and enjoyably so.

Frog-o-Rama

Day 224 (Part B): It was a froggy day down on the Nisqually Land Trust property in Ohop Valley. I've been watching for these critters to show up for some time now, and today, the wait was over. They're a pretty jumpy lot, these...the slightest vibration from a footfall sends them leaping into the water, but experience has taught me that if you wait patiently, any given frog usually returns to its post within ten minutes or so.

These are not small frogs by any means. They would easily cover my palm. Some are vividly green like the fellow hiding under the reed in the top photo, but others are almost blue in color like the chap on the bottom. I do not know what species they are, and can only hope they're not the type considered "invasive" in many Washington waterways.