One Earth, Many Voices
Here is a brief video clip of a Common Coqui singing. Note how he warms up with single low-pitched notes before launching into his full call: ko … ko … ko … ko-keee … ko-keee … ko-keee …
I hope you like my coqui video. This was the only male I found who lent himself well to being videotaped. Please let me know what you think of him!
What a shocking change … in a matter of just six hours we transition from a humid tropical rainforest biome with temperatures in the high 80s (F) to a late winter north temperate snow-covered landscape with temperatures in the 30s. This seems almost incongrous, with coquis still sounding off in my head as a frigid breeze blows against my face. How can this be?
This morning I finally did some homework related to coqui frogs of the genus Eleutherodactylus. I thought there were only eight or nine species in Puerto Rico, but a quick online search came up with a list of sixteen species, several of which may be extinct. My goodness, I had no idea there were that many of them!
My next move will be to get in touch with Alberto López-Torres, a biologist who is doing field work on the coquis of Puerto Rico and who happens to live in Ithaca right now. No doubt he will help me identify the species in my recordings. Once that happens, I plan to do a final post with Alberto that will include a summary of the conservation status of species in Puerto Rico.
You may wonder why I didn’t perform an in-depth exploration the biology of coquis before I went on my trip. My reasons are twofold. First, I simply didn’t have the time, working non-stop on other projects until the day of our departure. But another and perhaps more important reason is that I wanted to encounter the Puerto Rican soundscape with an open, unencumbered mind and with a concentration on the subjective quality of the sounds that I heard.
Exploring with only a general notion of “coqui” in my mind, I believe, kept me more open to experiencing the soundscapes purely from the standpoint of aesthetics. And this in turn effected the quality of my recordings. If I went at it with an inner mandate to document as many species as possible, that goal would likely have dominated the process and produced a noticeably different result.
Do you understand what I’m saying?
I took the same approach during my trip to Australia last autumn. Though I ended up getting many of my recordings identified in terms of species, that was not my reason-to-be, not my inner mandate. I approached it as an artist might, homing-in on textures of sound that I found compelling, interesting, immersive, and often relaxing. That is the way I like to work these days, attempting to empty my mind so that I can fully experience the magic and beauty when it comes my way.
Clearly, I am more interested in embracing the quality of sounds that I perceive than I am in identifying the species making the sounds or attempting to understand the evolutionary forces that brought the sounds into being. The former approach has to do with surrendering to the senses, while the latter involves a lot of thinking and explaining.
How to end this post? How about an extremely pleasing dawn chorus from El Yunque National Forest, featuring frogs and birds?:
El Yunque at dawn with coquis, Scaly-naped Pigeons, Bananaquit, etc. March 2013. Copyright Lang Elliott.
The Common Coqui (Eleutherodactylus coqui) is not the only member of the genus to inhabit the forests, fields, and roadsides of Puerto Rico. I believe there are sixteen species altogether. While I made no effort to search them all out, I did stumble upon several having interesting calls.
My favorite (other than E. coqui) is a frog I have named “Beautiful Tinkler.” I never actually saw one, so it is possible this is an insect and not a frog at all. The tinkler inhabits moist grassy areas next to rainforest. It’s jumbled tinkling calls are a delight to behold. And in almost every occasion that I have found them, there was the very high-pitched shuffling of long-horned katydids.
Below is my best example of Beautiful Tinklers, heard along with Common Coquis, katydids, crickets of some sort, and possibly yet another frog that gives a high-pitched dry trill sounding like tk-tk-tk-tk-tik:
Beautiful Tinklers and other frogs and insects recorded in El Yunque National Forest. March 2013. Copyright Lang Elliott.
Another standout frog I have named the “Pip Frog,” a species whose call is a rapidly-repeated liquid pip or peet. I found this species calling in groups in wet, grassy seeps along highways and sometimes in low, wet areas in rainforest. An additional species of frog was often found in the same habitat, its metallic call sound like p’teek! As you might have already guessed, I’ve christened it the “P’Teek Frog”. In the following recording, listen for all three species calling, along with several kinds of insects:
Pips, T’Deeks, and Common Coquis recorded in El Yunque National Forest. March 2013. Copyright Lang Elliott.
Well folks, this is the last of my “on location” Puerto Rico blog posts. We leave today at noon and I will be back in Ithaca by evening. I hear it has snowed a good six inches, so I am likely to return to a whitened landscape. Quite a contrast … hot tropical rainforest at noon and then snow covered hills by evening. What a wonderful trip this has been, a magical week in spent in caribbean tropical rainforest.
I am now intimately familiar with what it’s like to bask in a chorus of coquis, and my memories of their calls are unlikely to fade anytime soon. I fully expect to hear them in my dreams for months to come, even as I embrace the unfolding of spring and summer in the wonderland I call home.
Let the following recording officially mark the end of my journey… a small stream in the rainforest recorded at first light this morning. Enjoy the gurgling of the water, the calls of coquis, the high-pitched shuffles of a katydid (for those with excellent hearing), and the splats of dewdrops hitting palm leaves overhead:
Stream at dawn with Coqui frogs, recorded along highway in central Puerto Rico, March 2013. Copyright Lang Elliott.
Let me know what you think!
We arrived safely in Puerto Rico on Thursday afternoon and made our way without incident to the Casa Cabuy Ecolodge on the south edge of El Yunque National Forest. Quite a beautiful location, but we were disappointed to find that loud stream noise permeated the entire area … without doubt, we will have to hike into the high country to find a good spot for recording.
Common Coqui chorus featuring a close individual, recorded around 2 am in the cool of the night. 22 March, 2013. El Yunque National Forest, Puerto Rico. Copyright Lang Elliott, All Rights Reserved.
At nightfall, the coquis (the Common Coqui and several related species) began singing in earnest. Excited at the prospects, we grabbed our gear and hiked up a road that quickly transitioned into a wet trail through forest, grassy clearings and muddy spots. The road used to go all the way to the top of the mountain, but a large landslide about halfway up destroyed it many years ago.
After an hour or two of hiking, we came upon the landslide. Bob was having trouble with new boots causing blisters, so he decided to stay put. I forged (blundered?) ahead, following the trail up and beyond, and by midnight I had pulled away from the valley stream noise and I no longer could hear the distant sounds of motorcycles and cars from inhabited areas far below.
Lang chatting about his coqui experience. Early am, 22 March, 2013. El Yunque National Forest, Puerto Rico. Copyright Lang Elliott, All Rights Reserved.
In the wee hours of morning, I enjoyed a pristine nighttime rainforest experience. The frog and insect chorus mellowed with cooling temperatures, and I spent several hours looking for pleasing mixtures of sounds that would convey the magic that I heard and felt. Periodically, I would lay down on the trail, shut my eyes, and listen, mesmerized and entranced by the beautiful, dreamy chorus. What an incredible night it was, among the most poignant of my recording adventures.
Several coqui frogs interacting vocally to produce a magical auditory effect. Early am, 22 March, 2013. El Yunque National Forest, Puerto Rico. Copyright Lang Elliott, All Rights Reserved.
What’s a ribbit, peep, or croak worth? For the sake of my sanity, I wouldn’t dare calculate the amount of money I’ve spent over twenty-five years, chasing after myriad frogs and toads, documenting their calls. But there is one rather unusual frog that I will account for here, a remarkable amphibian that eluded me for years—the timid Crawfish Frog, a chunky, dark-spotted species named for its habit of taking refuge in abandoned crawfish burrows (see range map below). Crawfish Frogs are explosive breeders and can be heard for only a week or so in early spring. Their mating call is a deep gagging snore, a sonorous croak that I absolutely had to snag for my collection.
It was early spring of 2007. I had enlisted the help of John John MacGregor, Kentucky’s state herpetologist. On March 20, John e-mailed me that the weather looked good (rainy and warm) and urged me to meet him in western Kentucky the next afternoon. That evening I threw everything in my car and drove like a mad-man, covering 900 miles from Ithaca, New York, to western Kentucky, so I could rally with John at the appointed hour.
Shortly after dark, we homed-in on a calling group in a wetland in a grassy prairie that had been reclaimed from surface-mining. To my dismay, Spring Peepers were calling so loudly that it was impossible to record. For the next few hours, we drove all over the place, stopping and listening, but to no avail. Then, just when we were ready to give up, a friend of John’s (zoologist Brainard Palmer-Ball) called and informed us that had located a small calling group in a farm pond not far away. We drove to investigate.
The situation was perfect. Several Crawfish Frogs were clustered along one edge of the pond, calling intermittently. Other species (American Toad, Spring Peeper, Upland Chorus Frog, and Southern Leopard Frog) could be heard calling, but they in no way interfered. I was able to get some pretty decent recordings, though not entirely up to my standard. So I stayed in the area for two more nights, searching for other choruses (this included a foray into southern Illinois in hopes of finding Illinois Chorus Frog, but that didn’t work out). The night before I was to return home, I headed back to the little farm pond, and this time struck gold, capturing my best recording of all:
Crawfish Frogs snoring away in a small farm pond, with aggressive stuttered calls. 1am, 24 March 2007, near Princeton, KY. Recording © Lang Elliott.
Granted, my adventure was a clear success in terms of getting a great recording, but how much did it all cost? My trip lasted five days. I drove over 2000 miles (in my gas-guzzling Isuzu Trooper). I stayed in two motels. I ate lots of junk food. The final tally? Well, if I take into account the wear-and-tear on my car, the whole affair cost me at least a thousand bucks, perhaps considerably more.
So there you have it! Thousand Dollar Croaks! OMG! Such is the business of frog and toad recording! Gas guzzling, money guzzling, and time guzzling. But would I do it all over again? YOU BETCHA! I consider myself one lucky man for having recorded those awesome croaks. I only wish my bank account was in better shape. To remedy this situation, I suggest that all of you send your donations to The Frog Recordist Reclamation Fund, PO Box 1000 Bucks, Herpetoillogica, NY. Thank you in advance for your generosity!
Crawfish Frog Range Map
It is that time of year when the first frogs will be calling from the vernal ponds and streams here in West Virginia. One of my favorite sounds is that of the Upland Chorus Frog. These beautiful little frogs sing at night looking for mates in hopes of bringing the next generation into the world. Their upward pitched song, a rapid series of clicks, reminds some of the sound made by dragging a fingernail across the teeth of a comb.
I early March of 2009, I heard the following group of a dozen or so chorus frogs near my house. Moving every so slowly and quietly I made a furtive approach to the puddle where they were in concert. I placed the stereo mics close to the ground and very close to the edge of the water in hopes of creating a wide stereo field. Listening with headphones you would think that you were in the water with these guys:
A concert of upland chorus frogs in a vernal pond after dark. Berkeley County, WV. March 8, 2009. ©Wil Hershberger.
If you listen carefully you can hear that there are frogs calling from all around you. The stereo field was accentuated by having the mics so close to the frogs. They were spread out all around this small puddle of, perhaps, 10 feet in diameter.
I hope that you like this recording and the special circumstance under which it was made. The location is now an abandoned ATV race track. I doubt that I will hear any chorus frogs in that area this year – but there is hope that they will return. There is a new owner of the property and no ATVs have been run there for more than a year.
In early April of 2001, I visited Lost Maples State Natural Area in central Texas in search of Barking Frogs (Craugastor augusti), a unusual subtropical, land-breeding species found in dry, rocky regions from Texas to Arizona.
My adventure began not long after dark, as I hiked a trail that led up a valley next to a stream. I was thrilled to hear Barking Frogs calling from high on limestone bluffs above the trail, but the stream was too loud and the frogs too far away to get a pleasing recording. I tried climbing up to them, but the slope was much too steep and dangerous. So I continued up the valley. The night was magical. It was dead calm. The moon was full (or nearly so) and I was able to walk safely without using my headlamp. The temperature was around 70 degrees Fahrenheit (21C) and the humidity was fairly high—perfect conditions for the Barking Frogs. If only I can get closer . . .
I discovered a second trail that led up the side of the valley. I followed it up to a flat ridge and sauntered along under bright moonlight. I remember scaring up two small herds of wild pigs, the pitter-patter of their small hooves fading into thick brush. At long last the trail began descending into the next valley, switch-backing down a limestone bluff above another stream course. It was here that I encountered several Barking Frogs and discovered that they were giving their gagging croaks from under large boulders or else from crevices in the limestone. No wonder their calls sounded muffled and resonant. I was pleased to get a nice recording of several males calling back-and-forth, punctuated by the soft chirps and trills of Cliff Chirping Frogs:
Several Barking Frogs calling from a limestone bluff, 1 am, 5 April 2001, Lost Maples State Natural Area near Vanderpool, Texas. Recorded by Lang Elliott.
After gathering a number of closeup recordings, I made several attempts to get a nice soundscape. My efforts generally failed until I droped down to the stream. At 3 am I captured my favorite portrait, a true “moonlight serenade” featuring a single Barking Frog sounding off from the bluff above the stream, with distant cricket frogs and cliff chirping frogs coming and going against the gurgling backdrop:
A single Barking Frog calling from a limestone bluff above a gurgling brook. 3 am, 5 April 2001, Lost Maples State Natural Area near Vanderpool, Texas. Recorded by Lang Elliott.
These recordings bring back my fond memory of walking the trail alone under soft moonlight, enveloped in a unique and extraordinary soundscape so different from what I’m used to back home. I remember enjoying the beauty and solitude, yet I wanted to share the magic with at least one other person. Returning to the campground just before dawn, I phoned a close friend who I thought would understand, and left a hurried description of my experience on her answering machine. The sun rose and the magic evaporated from view, yet a lasting and poignant impression had been made on my mind.
During our discussion of what makes a recording relaxing, my friend Dorothy Gracey commented that “distant thunder/rain and a soft frog chorus would be heavenly.” So I’ve decided to give her what she wants.
I made the following recording, which I call ThunderToads, in early April of 2000, at Land Between the Lakes, Kentucky (which you’ve probably gathered is one of my favorite places to record). A thunderstorm was passing by, though mostly in the distance. Several American Toads were sounding off from a wetland next to the road, and Spring Peepers were singing lightly in the background. After many rounds of thunder, it finally began raining:
American Toads, distant Spring Peepers, and distant thunder, then rain, 8 pm, 10 April 2000, Land Between the Lakes, Kentucky. Recorded by Lang Elliott.
This soundscape is one of nature’s finest lullabies! The toads are lovely and the distant thunder is soothing. The entire recording lasts a little over and hour. I intend to offer it for sale as a sleep aid. Whatya think? Might this recording help you transition into the land of heavenly slumber? I almost fell asleep while editing the recording for this post!
NOTE: Please don’t listen to this recording using tiny little speakers. If you do, you won’t hear the lovely low frequency rumble of the thunder. I advise using a speaker setup that is accompanied by a subwoofer, or else listen using headphones.
Frogs and Toads can be a challenge to record. The problem is one of balance. If several species are involved, it is important that their sounds do not compete too much with one another, thereby turning the soundscape into a cacophonous “mush.” It is also important that calling individuals not be too close to the microphone; otherwise their calls may be too loud and overwhelming, especially if many individuals are involved. Loud calls might be okay for a brief recording designed to be used in an identification guide, but they are not okay if one desires a soundscape that the listener will enjoy for minutes on end.
Consider the following “frogscape” recording that I made in the summer of 1997 at a favorite location near Paul Smith’s College in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York:
A mixed-species frog chorus recorded at 10pm on 22 June 1997 in the Adirondack Mountains not far from Paul Smiths, New York. Recorded by Lang Elliott.
This is a fairly dense recording (meaning there’s lots going on). The sounds of four species are clearly heard. The most prominent singers are the Gray Treefrogs (pictured above); listen for their brief melodic trills. Spring Peepers provide the high end, their shimmering peeps adding sparkle to the recording. In addition, Green Frogs give staccato gunk! calls throughout, and a Bullfrog sounds off occasionally with his rum … rum … rum … rum …
Do you like the balance here? I remember being very careful with microphone placement. The biggest challenge was getting some distance from the Spring Peepers, while at the same maintaining good levels of the other species. I think the result is pretty decent. The Gray Treefrogs are not at all overwhelming. The only thing I am tempted to do is lower the Spring Peepers a bit.
What’ya think? Should I fiddle with this recording, or just leave it as it is?
Green Treefrogs, which are most common in the southern United States, have been a subject of my research in animal sound communication for many years. As in most frogs, the male calls and the female moves to him to initiate mating. Although recording the calls of males and testing the selectivity of females for call variations with playbacks have been the main focus of my research, we discovered early on that calling males do not always get the female.
Earlier this month (June 2010) in southern Illinois, we were lucky to film such action, when a male that was not calling (a “satellite” male) managed to intercept a female heading toward toward a male who was calling. The caller was a bit slow and clumsy, giving the satellite male the opening he needed. Once mounted, the successfully mating satellite male produced raspy “aggressive calls” to discourage his rival. The loser (the calling male) nevertheless tried to join the party, but his efforts failed. You can observe all this exciting behavior in the second half of the following video:
In field experiments we conducted in 1978 (Science magazine, Vol. 200, pp. 1179-1180), we found that nearly 50% of the females approaching a calling male were intercepted by silent, “satellite” males that we had observed sitting close to calling males. The late Walter Sullivan, a famous science editor for the New York Times, likened the satellite male in these situations to Cyrano de Bergerac in Rostand’s play, who wrote poems for a suitor but remained silent himself.
click for large map with color codes
