First peepers

For the naturalist, the nature guide, and the photographer, Spring Peepers are impossible amphibians. Oh, they exist... they noisily exist... and when you're surrounded by a bunch of these tiny tree frogs—actually, more like shrub frogs, since they don't seem to climb very high—the bell-like, sweet call of a single peeper can morph into a deafening chorus. (If I eventually lose the high end of my hearing, at least part of the blame will be on too many nights spent with Pseudacris crucifer, the species named to honor the x-like cross on its back.)  For all their music, however, the individual musicians are all but invisible. They're so well camouflaged that they melt into the wetlands, and they have an uncanny and frustrating ability to throw their voices... and throw the hunter off the trail. But I'm a persistent hunter, and sometimes, I do get lucky. Tonight, the start of the chorus-in-earnest season, luck was on my side, and I found a cooperative peeper. The amphibian didn't even flinch when I moved in for a close-up.