This nearly patternless mutation was once known as Rana pipiens burnsi, the plain leopard frog.
I stood ankle deep in waters still chilled by the Minnesota winter, listening to the yodels of distant loons, and hoping that in at least one of the flooded swales along this roadway I would finally find at least one of the 2 frogs—1 light colored, the other dark-- for which I was then searching. Both now simply mutant phases of the northern leopard frog, Rana pipiens, were once considered subspecies. The light one had been referred to as the plain leopard frog, R. p. burnsi, and the dark one as the Kandiyohi leopard frog, R. p. kandiyohi. I had first seen both when I was a kid as preserved specimens at a New England biological supply house. Now, a half century later, I hoped to find and photograph them.

On that first trip, made in May, the water was still chilly but air temperatures were in the high 70s to low 80s. Cattails and other emergents were flourishing, mosquitos were rampant and bloodthirsty, and leopard frogs, normal colors and patterns predominating, were abundant.

But I did succeed in finding and photographing a few of each of the hoped for mutants. Both were just as attractive as I remembered them being.

Now, a decade later (I don’t rush into anything!), I was back in Minnesota but a bit further north than my previous trip. It was mid-January, and temps were unseasonably warm, hovering at or just above freezing. The week before the temperature varied from zero to minus 30! In recognition of the season, we were birding, with great gray owls, not leopard frogs, being the target taxon.

This was a good thing, for except an open canal on Lake Superior and plowed roads the whole region was icy and snow covered. The mosquitos of summer were not missed; the leopard frogs were.

But having experienced both seasons, a temperature variance of more than 100 degrees Fahrenheit brought the hardiness of those leopard frogs into sharp focus. The adaptations of poikilotherms in boreal regions is remarkable indeed!

Eastern hellbenders may be strongly patterned or virtually devoid of markings.
I was in northeastern Georgia, about a 6 hour drive from home, staring in awe at the natural beauty of my surroundings. Delighted by the solitude and cooled by the knee-deep, clear rushing waters, the beauty of the forest greens, off-whites, and pinks of the stream-edge mountain laurels, and the crispness of the mountain air, all tied to the possibility of seeing North America’s largest salamander, the wonderful hellbender, brought memories of similar scenes far to the north.

There were a few partially submerged rocks along streamedge. Beneath some I found southern two-lined salamanders, Eurycea cirrigera. In deeper water, about 6 feet of my starting point—HELLBENDER! Not big, about 15 inches, but a hellbender.

The possibility had become a reality. I had checked beneath only a half dozen stream bottom rocks when beneath a flat rock just to the side of a riffle I found the young hellbender, Cryptobranchus a. alleganiensis. Photos were taken. I watched as the little giant slid unhurriedly beneath a riock, and I left, happy.

Now on to the rhododendron edged streams of the Carolina Blue Ridges, terrestrial salamander central!

A pretty Australian green frog in today's pet trade.
Throughout the years I have had several treefrogs that were “dumpy” either by stature or by name, but one in particular stands out in memory. This was a small Australian green (White’s) treefrog, Litoria caerulea (subsequently dubbed “dumpy treefrog” by the pet trade) that my friend and mentor Gordy Johnston and I imported from “Oz” in the mid-1950s.



Only about an inch long when received, the frog had a hearty appetite and quickly began to grow—and grow—and GROW! Within a year it was over 3 inches long and by the time it stopped growing (in length) it was just over 4 inches long. Although its growth lengthwise was noteworthy, its growth in girth was equally so. It became robust, then heavy, then on its diet of insects and pinky mice, it became rotund, and then actually corpulent. Yep, it was “dumpy.” And it remained so for most of the 20+ years of its life.


20 years? Indeed. This and many other amphibians have lengthy lifespans. And the good thing about the dumpy treefrog is even when they mistakenly grab a finger you don’t wind up with embedded teeth as is apt to happen in a horned frog bite. That, in itself, may be enough to sway your choice. Enjoy!