There’s a myth environmental educators like to tell, and it goes something like this: after every long northern winter, spring returns. Days lengthen, temperatures rise, the snowpack slowly disappears, and one afternoon, it begins to rain – a soaking, 45-degree rain that continues well into the night. On that one big night, all of the wood frogs and spotted salamanders and Jefferson salamanders and spring peepers clamber out of their winter burrows and migrate – up to a quarter-mile, on tiny feet – to their breeding pools. An explosion of life, all on that one big night. We call this myth: Big Night.
In reality, most years, our region experiences several Big Nights, one or two Medium Nights, and sometimes a smattering of Small Nights. It all depends on the weather.
However, the magic in the myth – that staggering vision of tens of thousands of amphibians marching across the early spring landscape, their urgency eclipsing even their need to eat – is every bit real.
SPRING PEEPER ON ROADWAY
Spotted salamanders, wood frogs, and their kin exhibit what biologists call “site fidelity,” which is to say that they return to the same vernal pool, year after year, to breed. In many cases,
SALAMANDER ON ROADWAY
SPRING PEEPER ON ROADWAY
Spotted salamanders, wood frogs, and their kin exhibit what biologists call “site fidelity,” which is to say that they return to the same vernal pool, year after year, to breed. In many cases,
it’s the very pool where they were born. These days, this often means crossing roads.
It’s a perilous journey.
SALAMANDER ON ROADWAY
In Canada, biologists surveying a two-mile stretch of road over four years recorded more than 30,000 dead amphibians. Researchers in western Massachusetts found that roadkill rates on rural roads were high enough to lead to localized extinction of spotted salamanders in as few as 25 years. Multiple studies have found that amphibians and reptiles comprise more than 90% of all vertebrate roadkill. In short: if you’re a salamander, roads present a grave danger.
Enter the Salamander Crossing Brigades, heroic volunteers who carry migrating amphibians across roads by hand, keeping count as they go.
For the last ten years, I’ve coordinated a growing Crossing Brigade effort in the Monadnock Region of southwestern New Hampshire – complete with data forms, volunteer trainings, Salamander Crossing signs, frequent admonitions to never ever ever go out on roads at night without wearing a reflective vest, and even a five-day salamander forecast. (Because spring weather conditions change approximately every fifteen minutes in New England, migrations are nearly impossible to predict more than a few days out.)
My family and friends have finally stopped rolling their eyes when I tell them that my RSVPs to evening events in April are “salamander-permitting.”
Since 2007, our program has trained more than 900 Crossing Brigade volunteers, many of whom return, like the salamanders, year after year. Collectively, we’ve spared more than 35,000 amphibians from the crush of the tire. Add these to the counts from other Crossing Brigade programs in Maine, Vermont, New Jersey, New York, and Pennsylvania, and that number could easily top 100,000.
Still, we can’t carry every frog across every road. How many are crushed after volunteers have headed home for the night? How many more at sites where there are no volunteers?
The true conservation power of the Crossing Brigades lies not in hand-carrying animals, but in their potential to inform longer-term solutions. In Monkton, Vermont, ten years of amphibian crossing data recently led to the installation of Vermont’s very first salamander tunnels, which now guide migrating amphibians under the road and away from the threat of passing vehicles. This spring, Keene, New Hampshire will become one of only a few communities to close an amphibian road crossing site to vehicle traffic on Big Nights – a decision based in large part on data collected by, and a strong show of support from, the Salamander Brigades.
There is strength, too, in the transformative power of holding a spotted salamander in your hands for the very first time – its goldenrod-yellow spots aglow in the light of your headlamp, its tiny smile melting your winter-weary heart – and knowing that you’re making a difference in that animal’s life. That’s the kind of experience that sticks with you long after you’ve hung up your raincoat.
A few years ago, wet and tired after a long night on the salamander beat, I sent a bleary-eyed message of gratitude to my Crossing Brigade crew. The next morning, I awoke to this note from a longtime volunteer:
A few years ago, wet and tired after a long night on the salamander beat, I sent a bleary-eyed message of gratitude to my Crossing Brigade crew. The next morning, I awoke to this note from a longtime volunteer:
[Your message] got to the heart of why we keep doing field work in sometimes miserable conditions: it's important for the earth; it feels really good to be doing something positive; and it's a hoot to know there are other slimy-fingered loonies out therein the middle of the night sharing the thrills and the heartaches.
Here we are, at the cusp of a new spring. Bring on the Big Nights, the Small Nights, the In-Between Nights. Bring on the thrills and, yes, even the heartaches. Bring on the rain and us slimy-fingered loonies, and let the march of the salamanders begin...
Brett Amy Thelen is Science Director at the Harris Center for Conservation Education in Hancock, New
Hampshire.
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Why did the frog cross the road?
Here in the Northeast, after a long winter signs of spring have finally arrived. Many of us are tuned into budding plants and migratory birds. It’s also a great time to take a hike and observe the awakening of amphibian life.
Animals like spotted salamanders, spring peepers, and wood frogs spend the winter in forest uplands, burrowed in the soil or tucked among dead leaves and bark. Warming temperatures rouse the animals. When conditions are just right, they seek out the temporary pools that form in lowlands for courtship and breeding.
Amphibian mating events are short and busy. After snowmelt, animals wait for the first mild and rainy night, when temperatures are between 35 and 45 degrees Fahrenheit. Then thousands of animals descend from the forest to find woodland pools. Many amphibians are faithful to breeding sites, returning year after year to mate in the pools where they were born.
Vehicles are one of the greatest threats to migrating amphibians. On their journey from the forest to the lowlands, fragmented landscapes often force frogs and salamanders to cross roads. In suburban areas, and on well traveled roads, fatalities are high.
There are ways to minimize losses. Culverts can be installed under roads that intersect migration routes, allowing animals to travel beneath traffic. Monitoring data can be used to temporarily close roads or reroute traffic in sensitive areas. And citizens can act as crossing guards, encouraging drivers to slow down and assist animals across the road.
Produced in collaboration with WAMC Northeast Public Radio, this podcast originally aired on April 27, 2015. To access a full archive of Earth Wise podcasts, visit: www.earthwiseradio.org.
Photo courtesy of Ezra Wolfe
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