Can you see the frogs? Me neither. But I can hear them.

There’s still snow along the town roads, and yet in the snow-and ice-free pools off to the sides the frogs sing their mating songs. Well, these aren’t really songs, because it’s wood frogs calling, and collectively they sound like some machine with sand or loose ball bearings in its gears. I’ve noticed that no matter how slowly and quietly I move, the frogs (regardless of species) go silent when I come near. Then however carefully I scan the water, I can’t see them. Well, today I tried something different. As I came upon a water-filled, brushy ditch emitting a wood frog cacophony, I slowed to just a bit more than a snail’s pace and stepped softly to eliminate vibration through the earth. As I reached the water’s edge the sound diminished; little swirls appeared on the surface as the frogs ducked under. In an instant the ditch went nearly silent, only one or two frogs calling, and then they stopped.

Now came the test. I was in no hurry, so I just stood still, looking at the water. After about a minute a swirl appeared and a wood frog lay on the surface, snout and eyes above the water, hind legs spraddled wide. Then up came another. And a couple more. And soon they were calling, not just the few I could see, but dozens of them, hidden among the brown weeds, submerged branches and other detritus in the ditch, together making that mechanical racket, as if I weren’t even there. For the first time in my life, I had fooled them. I made myself a promise, during this breeding season, to try the same tactic on peepers, chorus frogs, toads, and whatever springy-legged amphibian whose calls I came upon. While the breeding season lasts, it will make my walks along the town roads just a bit more interesting.