In January of 2013, Patti and I were in Amazonian Peru with about 15 other herpers. We had spent five days on Project Amazon’s Madre Selva Biological Preserve on the Rio Orosa, and had just moved back upriver to their Santa Cruz Forest Preserve.

Since our last visit, a lazy creek I remember as barely flowing had been dammed and had flowed sufficiently to form a several acre pond in a low-lying clearcut before trickling over the dam to reenter the dense secondary forest. The pond, now two years old, had provided new habitat for spectacled caiman, fish, and in banana trees along the banks, for Bob; for many Bobs, in fact.



Bob, a treefrog, had been named by our gang for his call, “Bob”—not Robert, not Bobby, just plain old Bob, spoken in a guttural croak. Big, angular, with actions and reactions relatively slow, Bob and his brethren sat, usually one to a banana tree, on the leaf stems about waist to head high. Bob was forest green dorsally, grayish to buff ventrally, and laterally had a jagged line of dark rimmed light spots separating the dorsal and ventral colors.

Bob was (and is) a giant monkey frog, Phyllomedusa bicolor. Among the largest of his genus Bob was about 4 ½ inches svl (snout-vent length), had huge parotoid glands and when he moved he as often moved in a deliberate hand over hand fashion as by jumping.

Every night at dusk, Bob (all the Bobs, in fact) emerged from the axil(s) of the banana tree(s) to sit boldly on the stem(s) and call loudly into the night. That this seemingly harsh and unwaveringly repetitious call has been successful in bringing females to the various calling sites was amply displayed by the vast number of tadpoles in all stages of development that swam in the shallows of the pond.

The Bobs it seems, and the Bobettes, have found new homes. Long live them all!

More photos under the jump...