It was with some suspicion that I decided to take up Bob Fullava’s invitation to go frog hunting.  Even though he set up several earlier dates, one thing or another led to each one being cancelled out until this morning – which happened to be April 1^st.  Late last night, the answering machine picked up his call while I was out.  “Gerry. Gerry.  H-e-l-l-o  G-e-r-r-y,” was the recorded message intoned in that distinctive left brained voice of his (he is one of those people who are still un-schooled in answering machines). “Uh.  Say, about tomorrow. Uh. Let’s plan on it.  Pick you up at 7:30.  Can you hear me?  O.K. well, umm, call me back to let me know. That’s 7 in the morning.”  Then he hung up.

  Immediately following this message another one, unidentified but from the same source, quickly spelled out “6-1-6-2-2-8-1-5-1…”  An explosive burst of dog barking blocked out the last number before he hung up again.  My Caller I.D. clearly listed Bob’s number, so the last digit was un-necessary. I called him back and confirmed that I’d be ready at sunrise.

  You might think this time of year to be a bit early for frog hunting, but it’s actually a bit late for the type we are seeking.  As soon as the snows begin to melt in late winter, the tiny chorus frogs begin to sing out from the security of temporary woodland pools (like this one here). These ephemeral bodies of water, called vernal ponds, offer a comfortable location for egg laying and tadpole rearing.  The water usually dries up by mid-summer, so the froglets need to complete their development before this happens.  Salamanders also employ these pools for their egg laying as well.

  The big advantage in setting up a nursery in such a transitory environment is that there are usually no significant predators in such a place.  There normally are no fish or turtles, and usually no water scorpions or giant water bugs to eat up the defenseless young.

  Bob and I were not seeking chorus frogs or salamanders on this windy April morning, however.  We were looking for Pistol Frogs. These elusive creatures are found only in select locations throughout the state and are seldom recorded because of their extremely limited breeding period. It so happens that their only southeast Michigan population is found at Crosswinds Marsh – just north of the Monroe County line.

  The “Pfrogs,” as they are known, were discovered by Mr.Fuliva only five years ago and he is the reigning expert on this species.  He’s a shipping clerk by profession but a well-respected amateur Herpetologist (that’s someone who studies reptiles and amphibians) with a national reputation.

  “Hey,” he greeted me in typical style as he picked me up at exactly 7:30 this morning, “’ja get my message?”  “Yes I did – remember I called you back.”  “Oh yes, yes, yes, that’s right. I have a heck of a long ride you know and I wanted to make sure that….”  “Yeah, I know,” I responded with a gentle cut off, “and I appreciate you doing this for me.”  “Yeah, alright then. Do you want the rest of my Egg McMuffin?”

  We headed up to Crosswinds and parked in the lot.  This day was gray and nasty. Several wind gusts had nearly pushed over his funky old Toyota on the way up, so it was a day suited for only this one mission.  We wasted no time heading out on the woodland trail and our pace slowed considerably as we neared the boardwalk that spanned the largest vernal pond.

  “This is the place,” Bob chirped.  He fairly squealed with delight upon noting that the ice was not fully melted from the pond.  “This is the perfect setup for Pistol Frogs – they only come out during that short time between first melt and open water. I was worried that we were too late.”  “I was worried that you waited until April Fool’s day,” I quipped and we both had a hardy laugh. The pool was full of calling Chorus frogs, which was a good sign that Pistol frogs would be about.  Unfortunately our burst of laughter combined with our heavy footfalls on the boardwalk silenced the chorus.

  Bob kneeled down to get a better look at the remaining ice.  It was melted away from the tree bases and fallen logs and pock-marked with holes. “See those holes,” he observed. “Pistol Frogs made those.”  “Are we likely to see any?” I asked.  “Mebbe,” was his whispered response, “never can tell about these things and…” A single Spring Peeper started up his lonely tweeting melody from the far edge of the pool and suddenly stopped.  “J’here that?” Bob interrupted his earlier thought to interject. “It stopped.  That Peeper stopped. Pistol Frog probably got him.” 

  You will remember that I stated earlier that Chorus Frogs and the like breed in temporary ponds in order to avoid predators.  The Pistol Frog has learned to take advantage of the situation and has turned to preying upon Chorus frogs – and the occasional Peeper. This predatory amphibian mimics the appearance of their prey and so is difficult to identify. But, their behavior is strikingly different.

  “Do you think?” I asked, “I didn’t hear anything unusual.”  “No, you won’t neither.  The Pistols emit a high frequency burst that nearly obliterates their prey.  It’s beyond our hearing,” he explained. “I shoulda brought my frequency meter.  I made the mistake of bringing McNugget (his dog) one time and the sound blast nearly drove her insane ‘cause it was in her hearing range. She’s always biting green things now – anything green. She never did that before.”

  We waited a few more anxious minutes before speaking again. Bob explained that the auditory blast from Pistol Frogs literally explodes their victims from the inside out. “Mushes ‘em up on the inside and causes them to croak.  I mean to die, you know.” They apparently make those ice holes using the same method, but he explained that he hasn’t been able to personally observe that part of their behavior. “Then the Pfrogs suck out the body juice,” he continued.  “One meal and they are ready to lay their own eggs.  After that they disappear into the forest leaf litter.”

  Frozen into place, literally, we scanned the pool for activity.  I was now especially interested in seeing one of these things. “Look into the holes,” whispered my companion as he motioned to those features nearest our position “they’ll wait there just under the surface until another frog comes along to check out the light.”

  Unfortunately, nearly a half hour of listening, looking and probing yielded nothing more than the presence of Chorus Frogs. The temperature was dropping, so even they were slowing down. There were no further peeps from the Peeper either.

  “Doggone it,” Bob finally broke the silence and said. “I think we missed them for today.  It’s getting late (even though it was only 10:30 am).  You know, I think there was only one in this pool and he already ate – he popped that Peeper!”  He then typically destroyed his brand of Bob humor by explaining that he meant “he consumed it.”

  “That’s it?” I asked. “Fraid so.  The other pool is way over on the other side and I don’t think it’s worth checking out,” he apologized. So, that was it.  “I’ve got to get home to feed my dog,” he said as we trudged back,” she’s become a very finicky eater as of late.”

  I vowed to come back tomorrow even if Mr. B. couldn’t make it. “You can give me a call anytime.” Bob said as he dropped me off. “I’ll get you a glimpse of a Pistol frog one of these days.  I think you’ve got my phone number, but you can always look me up in the Fowlerville book. It’s under Fullava, B.S.”