Field Notes: The Childhood Joy of Catching Frogs

Conducting fieldwork is a particular perk of being an ecologist. Especially when that fieldwork takes place somewhere as beautiful as Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks.

I've said it multiple times to friends and family, but when someone offers you a PhD position fieldwork in Yellowstone, you don't say no.

A moose, spotted from the opposite side of a thermal spring along the Southern Boundary Trail in Yellowstone National Park

The joy to be found in beautiful vistas, time spent outside, and encounters with wildlife is unsurprising. The moment when you look up and see a moose on the other side of a steaming thermal spring, or when a small family of otters swims by, unbothered by your presence, is breath-taking. But there is a unique joy to be found in handling wildlife that a non-biologist/ecologist may not realize.

Most of my previous field experiences have involved birds. Catching them in mist-nets, gently untangling them, placing bands or radio-transmitting backpacks on them, releasing them, tracking them down with their radio frequency. Working with birds is uniquely exhilirating and stressful. Their bones are so delicate, their bodies so small, that the possibility of causing them harm is constantly on your mind. Yet, usually, we only glimpse them, with the naked eye or through binoculars. Perhaps we're lucky, and they stay still long enough to observe them for a while, maybe take a picture. To have the opportunity to see them up close, to feel their feathers and look them in the eyes, to witness the small details like eye rings and colored crowns up close, has no comparison.

The crown of a Ruby-Crowned Kinglet is much easier to see with the bird in hand

I always found a lot of joy and wonder in catching birds, but these last few weeks catching frogs have brought me an extra level of happiness. There have been a couple of sites where we were working with the Teton amphibian crew, and I had the freedom to catch frogs and tadpoles to collect tissue samples from while others did the surveys. At one site in particular, I felt like a kid in a candy shop, or at Disneyland, or whatever simile for childhood joy you prefer.

I think that feeling, of being a kid, is what makes catching frogs different from catching birds. I have the impression that a lot of kids grew up catching frogs. Luis has distinct memories of toads breeding, the sheer numbers that would emerge from the water, the way the tadpoles would gather together at the water's edge.

Toads are particularly prolific breeders, and their tadpoles tend to congregate in warm, shallow water

I vaguely remember catching toads in my neighborhood when I was kid, but only once or twice. There was a spot at the entrance to our cul-de-sac where they could be found. What I remember more clearly is being told that toads caused warts, and immensely disliking the feeling of their skin on mine.

A Columbia Spotted Frog

I don't recall who told me that old wives' tale about the warts, but it stuck in my brain. I think that, being socialized as a girl, that association with something "gross" caused me to immediately stop thinking of catching frogs/toads as something "fun." I had no issues catching lizards after that point (though I did despise the neighborhood boys for liking to pull their tails off), but anurans remained associated with unpleasant sensations, like "sliminess."

A Columbia Spotted Frog, hanging out in the water

So, in some ways, it feels like I'm making up for all of the frog-catching I should have done as a child. I worried, going into this summer, that I would be awful at it. I thought I would continue to hate the feeling of their skin (the fact that I wear gloves for their protetion most of the time has reduced this concern). But, as it turns out, I'm not bad at it at all.

Sometimes, catching enough individuals for my sampling needs is easy. One site we visited was absolutely full of giant Spotted Frog tadpoles. They were easy to see in the clear water, though they were fast. While Luis and Mary (leader of the Teton amphibian crew) surveyed, I ran around the wetland, trying to physically space out my samples. I crept up to the edges of deeper pools, where I could see the large, quarter-sized tadpoles. They would dive into the mud, wriggle down, and hide if I disturbed the surface of the water, so I had to move fast. I would shove my net down, follow them as they swam for a hiding place, and scoop them out of the water.

As you can imagine, this frog was a difficult one to catch. When they back themselves into corners, it's hard to get them into the net before they jump around you and into the water.

Other times, catching individuals to sample is a bit more complicated. The most difficult are, naturally, adults. They tend to be more aware of their surroundings than tadpoles. And the most difficult to catch (and sample) are the adult Spotted Frogs. They've been the largest anurans we've dealt with - toads can be about the same size, but most of the toads we've found have been itty-bitty juveniles.

Spotted Frogs are highly aquatic - they spend a lot of time in and near the water. When they feel threatened (like when a scientist comes at them with a net), their first instinct is to jump into the water and swim down to the mud - much like their tadpoles. Sometimes, this backfires for them - it's much easier to scoop a swimming frog out of the water than to catch it on land. But other times, the wily little bastards succeed in escaping. In the process of trying to scoop them, we'll hit the mud at the bottom of the wetland, stirring it up, obscuring our view, making it impossible to know which direction our prey has darted in. If we wait, patiently, sometimes we can spot them when they come up for air, as they float with their head above water near some vegetation, but often, this is the end of our pursuit.

If we do successfully trap an adult Spotted Frog, the battle is not over. At one of the last sites we visited on our most recent field hitch, they were particularly lively. A Spotted Frog, upon finding itself in a net, will immediately begin jumping, but they often end up hopping from one side of the net to the other. At this site, they reacted to the net like jack-in-the-boxes, leaping straight up in the air the second the net touched their legs, plopping back into the water, and disappearing. They were impossible to grab!

A disgruntled Columbia Spotted Frog, post-sampling. This animal was handled with appropriate training and scientific permits.

Despite these difficulties, I have a lot of fun. I get excited every time we find tadpoles or frogs. The challenge of catching adults can occasionally be frustrating if I haven't met my minimum number of samples yet. But the joy of successfully catching one? The challenge of getting them to open their mouths for a swab? The grumpy expressions on the faces of tiny toads?

It all makes my inner child quite happy.

A very small Boreal Toad.

As a side-note: while I should probably recommend that people not handle wildlife, I find it very difficult to actively discourage letting kids catch and hold creatures such as frogs and toads. I think those moments for connection with the natural world are critical, and here in the US at least, frogs and toads are probably some of the most accessible and least dangerous options (though if you live somewhere with Cane Toads, maybe do some googling). What I do hope parents will do is encourage their kids to be gentle, to make sure there are no lotions/bug spray/sunscreen on their hands that could be harmful, and to keep handling time to a minimum. I think kids' natural curiosity about the world should be encouraged, and tactile exploration is a part of that, so let's just try to do it in a way that doesn't harm the wildlife.