An adult male Florida gopher frog.
Living in a region where a goodly number of anurans exist has its herpetological ups and downs. The ups are that on almost any rainy night throughout the year we can see or hear some species of frog, toad, or treefrog. The downs are that to find some species we have to brave the chilly nights and cooler waters (remember, we are Floridian wimps!) of seasons other than midsummer. But, when we do tailor our searches a bit and search out cool weather species, we may find the gopher frog, Rana capito aesopus, a localized and secretive taxon that awaits heavy rains and flooding conditions to begin its breeding sequence.

And so it was on this night. It had rained, poured, rained, then misted all day and Jake decided this was the night when gopher frogs would be active. The problem was, he hadn’t cleared this with the gopher frogs. But Jake swore that that if I would just get him to where the frogs were he WOULD NOT come back to the car without a picture. So we headed westward to visit a known gopher frog locale.

When we arrived it was almost dark, it WAS windy, and it was cool. We could hear no gophers from the road so we, in shorts and flipflops, clawed and shoved our way through 100 feet of brambles and thorny shrubs to pond edge. By this time it was cold, windy and moonlit. But guess what? Gophers WERE singing. We got to the water and I said something to the effect of "they're here, they're singing, go get 'em Jake." His response was "ummmmmm--I forgot my camera."

By now the frogs were calling loudly so I suggested that Jake go and at least find one so he could add it to his life list. He went. I stood and shivered. Jake got 1/4 way across the pond and the frogs stopped singing. Jake stood. One frog called. Jake, sounding like a dyspeptic porcupine, produced an answering snore. Lo, the frog called again. Jake stalked s-l-o-w-l-y towards it. It was now a contest of whether the pond would evaporate or the frog would die from old age before he got to the calling site.

OK, so you've got the idea by now. The trip was a washout. Frogs 10. Jake and me, zero. But we had fun, and later that year, on a warmer and even rainier night, we were more successful. Jake got his photos.