SubscribeIn Arizona, there are a number of relatively devastating invasive/exotic plants and animals. They take many forms, from buffle grass to the "quagga" mussel. For our purposes the target of our aforementioned efforts to prevent reproduction would be the bullfrog. The bullfrog, although highly sought after by princesses seeking a prince, has a surprising devastating impact on the already fragile Arizona desert ecosystem. The scientific details, although intriguing, are not of much consequence to this story. You can read more about it an older National Geographic article...or just google "Arizona bullfrogs." Three Dog Night sang of Jeremiah who was a bullfrog, and apparently also a good friend. He may very well have been a terrific guy by bullfrog standards, but in Arizona he still would not have been welcome.
And thus, after several months of hearing stories of the epic battle against the bullfrogs I was invited along on a foray to the front lines in the war. Late in the afternoon we piled into a Forest Service green pickup truck (a color that cannot be described, but is instantly recognizable) and headed off into the depths of Coronado National Forest. The frogs had taken up residence in several stock tanks around the national forest, as is common throughout the state. Here I will not get into an explanation of the disappointing relationship between the forest service and ranchers other than to say that I find it less than ideal and relatively typical of an often backwards agency like the forest service. There, only one sentence, albeit a run on, bashing the forest service. They also do lots and lots and lots of good work, and employ lots and lots and lots of good people.
Anyway, after a long and uncomfortable ride on what were often barely passable 4 wheel drive roads with 3 of us packed into the cab if the truck and a radio awkwardly positioned where the middle passengers legs should have rested, we arrived at Lone Mountain Tank (LMT). LMT was hardly more than a mud hole at this point; it doesn't really rain in Arizona from about mid-August until late June. My associates in the war on the frogs, who for our purposes will be known simply as C and G, climbed out of the truck and immediately began surveying LMT through binoculars. I fell somewhat helpless at this point as I had not anticipated binoculars to be a key piece of bullfrog slaughtering equipment. After a few short moments of squatting on the banks of the tank, the sun quickly disappearing over the ridge to our west, we managed to spot five frogs. C, a former army sniper and current volunteer for the forest service, setup a standing position behind a small mesquite with his .22 rested between two branches. A long silence fell over the area as G and I crouched on the bank anxiously watching C zero in on a frog bold enough to breach the surface no more than 20 yards away. From our vantage point only the frogs bulging eyes were visible as he floated, basking in the last rays of that days sun. A sudden popping sound tore through the silence, and the frog exploded from the water from an combination of self propulsion and the impact of a hollow tip bullet.
A few hours later, with night almost fully upon us, dinner in our stomachs, and full waders on we advanced on LMT once again. We retrieved the victim from early that day, floating near the edge of the tank, and tallied out first kill for the night. The rest of the slaughter would be done from much closer range, and would require a combination of stealth and cunning that would make the border patrol agents who patrolled the same forest envious. TO BE CONTINUED...
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