Our small dedicated group in Harford County decided to participate in the multi-region effort to get folks out at night to catch the emerging amphibians. For many species that spend most of the year in hiding, timing is everything and it takes a lot of luck to find that precise moment where they leave their winter fortresses to continue this ancient breeding ritual. Last year with limited volunteer assistance we only caught the tail end of the narrow window with only egg masses and few individuals observed making their way back to solitude beneath the surface.
As the sun began to gain intensity and a few heavy rains showered new life into the soil, we knew the time was upon us. We chose a heavily wooded location that was historically known for its high concentration of pools down in the southern coastal plain of Harford. We threw out an invite and got a solid group of ten or so who showed interest in coming out.
Prior to dragging a large group of volunteers into the mucky thicket at night, I decided to scope it out. The first time I did a slow cruise down the road that borders the tract of public land but didn’t hear anything other than a few distant spring peepers which had already been starting their deafening siren chorus in the marshes near my house not far away.
A few days after, getting nervous that I might miss the spotted salamanders or wood frogs we were hoping to see, I ventured back into forest during a somewhat warm and steady rain. With my poncho, waterproof camera, and knee-high rubber boots I hiked straight back in, perpendicular to the road. I instantly spotted several large vernal pools.
There is something spiritual about being in the forest while it rains. The impact of the droplets on the leaves adds a steady rhythm and the wildlife seems to rejoice all around you as if the rain were their savior. The vernal pools add another facet of energy as they seem to dance when their surface devours the falling water and echo the impact in all directions. The way that everything in the forest is connected and for this short time in the spring much of it becomes a wetland habitat and then goes right back to how it was before always astounds me.
With an unenthusiastic band of spring peepers off in the distance on the edge of a marsh I start zig-zagging my way to each pool but I quickly realize, my gosh there are vernal pools everywhere! I go to one crescent shaped pool with an old tire in the center, then another off back towards the road, then a small one at the end of a downed tree, then a puddle surrounded by mounds of moss, then I stand in awe as I approach a depression the size of a farm pond with trees towering out from the depths like the bald cypress swamps of the south. All full of leaf litter and appearing mostly untouched by humans.
At this point I still haven’t seen any signs of amphibian life in the pools. This tells me one of two things- I haven’t missed the emergence because there aren’t any egg masses and I am just a little too early or this area is just desolate. Try to cut my losses, I start flipping logs. The second one I roll has a dark morph red-backed salamander under it. I went in today hoping for wood frogs and spotted salamanders so this guy was certainly appreciated even though at any other time of the year he would receive little more than a slight smile from me.
Along the way back to my Jeep I encounter DOZENS of pools like those found earlier, all unique and with incredible potential. One larger pool in the center of the property is full of downed trees and appears to most likely stays filled most of the year. It is as deep as two feet in some areas and I believe it could be home to spotted turtles which would be a huge bonus for this already impressive stretch. I will verify this next month when it heats up.
I finally start to grow tired of getting poured on for the past few hours and become disappointed with the absence of the two species I had expected to see. Suddenly I hear a flock of geese off in the distance. No big deal, Canadian geese rule this region. I then realized, those aren’t geese, those are wood frogs! The rain begun to slow down for a few minutes and berating croaks of these masked bandits of the moist forest floor start replacing the sound of the rain. I rush towards the pool where I heard them but they stop as a herd of whitetail deer cross nearby. I stop and wait for fifteen minutes hoping they will resume but all distant groups go silent as the rain starts back up and starts coming down in full force. Once again I am just a little too early but I know everything still lays in wait, the soaked ground and collected water volume would create just the right conditions for their instinctual emergence soon enough.
I stop out one more time before leading the others, hoping to sketch out a herp treasure map to ensure they have the best experience possible. As I enter the woods I hear the distant sound of wood frogs and point myself towards them. I come across a massive pool with scattered individuals calling. As soon as I made myself known they went silent. I could still see their heads bobbing up and down, waiting for this towering biped to give them some privacy. I left excited that I had seen my first wood frogs of the year and remained optimistic that the spotted salamanders wouldn’t be far behind them.
The time had finally come. A few warm days and one downpour later, a motley group of excited volunteers from all sorts of different backgrounds meets up in the parking lot of a local school to forge into the swampy abyss in search of amphibians. Determined, we wade into a deep pool on the edge of the forest. We see a couple quick glimpses of unidentified frogs in the pool where I had seen wood frogs the night before but amazingly, the wood frogs were not visible. We wander deeper and deeper, stopping at each pool as we come to it. It was shocking that a spot that had so much life the night before could be so silent. We searched for movement, for sound, and for evidence of breeding via egg masses. Nothing.
Feeling as if we had let these folks down we suddenly hear some chatter from up ahead. A volunteer was crouched down by a deep, narrow pool with something in his hand. Finally, what we had all come to see. A beautifully colored spotted salamander slowly wriggled through his hand, trying to resume what it had set out to accomplish tonight. Throughout this small pool we could see several cloudy egg masses attached to submerged branches and even a few wood frog egg masses. Then from across the pool I saw a black and yellow blur beneath the surface. Another spotted salamander quickly attempted to hide in the leaf litter. In the midst of countless potential sites that bared no fruit, we find this one spot that had all the right ingredients. This moment was a true testament for how important conservation is. Field guides and biologists can’t always predict exactly what wildlife will choose as their home, but when they we do find those spots we have to do everything we can to protect them.
Now that we had found what we had hoped we meandered towards our vehicles, getting slightly turned around and taking the long way back. The slight detour resulted in the discovery of an eastern box turtle that had perhaps came back into the world a little too soon and died. This was a sad reminder of how fragile the balance of life is.
A few weeks have passed now since our first discoveries of the season. Many more herps have emerged in Harford and all over the state. So far this year in addition to all of the amphibians we have seen everything from eastern milksnakes to spotted turtles. Tonight I can walk a few hundred feet from my home and hear the competing songs of American toads, pickerel frogs, and of course still plenty of spring peepers. Spring is officially here and for all us dedicated volunteers, the new year has just begun.
Photos by Scott McDaniel
