I grew up only a few houses away from a fair-sized lake in Massachusetts where I spent a lot of time as a kid watching musk and painted turtles in the shallows and American and Fowler’s toads when they gathered on the sandy shores in the spring to trill or scream, and listening to the plunking notes of green frogs and the jug-o-rums of Bullfrogs, Rana catesbeiana.



Jug-o-rum? I listened to the squeaky fright notes of first-year bullfrogs along the lakeshore and to the deep bass of the old territory-holders out in the lily-pad patches, but I’m not sure I ever heard one of those bullfrogs say jug-o-rum.

I read Conant. I read Behler and King. They both mentioned the jug-o-rum calls. So I began listening to bullfrogs in earnest. I listened to the bullfrogs on Longmeadow Flats. Heard a lot of deep notes, but jug-o-rum? Nope. Ditto for the ones in northern New Jersey, for all in southeastern South Carolina, and for others in north Florida.
"Brrrrrrrrrrummmmmm," or maybe "urrrrrrrrr-ummmmmmm," but no matter where the chorus was heard -- Maine, Texas, or Baja California -- I heard nary a jug-o-rum amongst them. Not a one!

So one hot summer night, seeking validation for my inability to hear what seemed to be the traditional call, I talked Jake Scott into a bullfrog search and listen foray in north central Florida. We found a spot that was literally resounding with bullfrog vocalizations. I listened and, happily, didn’t hear a single jug-o-rum. Ok, Jake, I asked, what do the bullfrogs say? His answer was immediate: "Jug-o-RUMMMMMMM."

I give up. Jug-o-rummmmmm it is.

More photos under the jump...