December 26th – I met this interesting fellow on the way back from Chasewater. I guess it was hunting frogs and amphibians in the marsh there, as there’s no real open water – but of course, an adult frog must contain plenty of sustenance for an adult grey heron in winter.
Whatever it was expecting for lunch, it was a handsome and healthy looking bird and totally unexpected there. A nice treat.
March 12th – I felt awful. Really bad, as if I had the mother and father of hangovers. I’d not had alcohol, and it could have been an MSG thing, but I was dehydrated and groggy. But I had to go out.
I called in at Shire Oak Park to check the frog pools to see if they’d mated there yet – if caught at the right time, that place is like toad soup but today, it was devoid of amphibia – but a heathy patch of spawn in each attested to the frog’s presence at some point.
I was interested in the difference in the frogspawn. I know that frogs produce globular ‘clumps’, and toads ribbons, but the frogspawn seemed to vary from the huge ones in my hand to tiny eggs the size of a small blackcurrant. I wonder why that is? Age and health of the female? Different types of frog?
Never noticed the variety in this stuff before.
March 11th – I wasn’t feeling well. An unpleasantly off-colour feeling had been descending over me for a few weeks. I ached. I felt dizzy. Something wasn’t right.
I grabbed a takeaway on the way home and shot from Clayhanger to Brownhills over the Spot Path and common – where, despite my fun, I found the migrating amphibians – out in huge numbers enjoying the drizzle – charming and fascinating. I love frogs and toads.
I took care where I was riding, and noted creatures of all sizes and hues. Very one of them obeying the same seasonal imperative.
Nature has a way of pulling you up short.
April 2nd – A cracking day. My seasonal clock a bit on the krunk, I went again to Shire Oak Nature Reserve to see if there were amorous amphibians getting busy, only to find none, but some spawn remaining. Clearly, I missed frog soup this year; however, some spawn under the overhanging trees that clearly couldn’t be reached by the dining heron I sacred off was, remarkably, hatching.
Yup, tadpoles are hatched.
There’s a running joke amongst my pals that one should be careful to check my hands for tadpoles and other wildlife slimies before shaking hands.
The cycle of life continues in a small corner of the town, largely undisturbed, as it has done for decades here. Poor heron had to go somewhere else for his tapioca meal, though…
August 12th – As I rode along the dark canal towpath, my light kept picking out bright spots in the dark, and dark lumps. They were toads, out for the evening to catch supper and take the air. Toads of all ages from the old and grumpy-looking to the youngsters just in their prime.
Toads are wonderfully tolerant, and will be picked up quite happily (but they may well pee on you if alarmed). I’m fascinated by these little characters and finding them made my ride, I must say.
BrownhillsBob's #365daysofbiking 