Singing Peeper, Cote

Last night, I went over to a friend's middle-of-a-hayfield vernal pool to get video of American Toads trilling, but no sooner had I found a suitable batrachian chorus than it began, completely unexpectedly, to rain. Since I don't have precipitation-proof gear, I had to beat a hasty retreat and figured I'd be back tonight. Sadly—for me, anyway—the Toads didn't join me. But the vernal was hardly quiet: the Spring Peepers, those pint-sized bell ringers with the characteristic X on their backs, remain in fine and loud voice. They also remain, despite the racket they put forth, almost impossible to find, even when you know they're right in front of you. I love a challenge, and so, however frustrating the chase, I persisted, eventually getting down on hands and knees and patiently searching the mud and emerging grasses. As is often the case in the natural history business, my patience was rewarded... and, this time, with the object of my quest: a tiny singer, his inflated throat patch a powerful resonator for his bell-like peeping notes.