I could hear them as soon as I got out of my truck. Yes, love was in the air. Just days after what may be the last heavy freeze of the winter, a loud chorus of wheee’s and whirrr’s rang out from deep in the forest as frogs vied for the attention of potential mates. The Enoree River Rich Woods is a unique site within the Sumter National Forest. It is located in north-central South Carolina at the crest of the sandhill fall line—the point at which the Piedmont’s hills gives way to the flatter ancient seabed that dominates much of the state’s landscape. The Rich Woods is made up of several high wooded bluffs that drop steeply to swampy bottom land that lies alongside the Enoree River. The bluffs are separated by deep gullies and ravines, the product of the terrible erosion created by cotton farming in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. To make the work easier for themselves and their horses, cotton farmers plowed their fields down hill. Cleared of trees to hold the dirt in place this method of cultivation allowed soil to be washed down the barren slopes in huge volumes. Hundreds of thousands of acres of farmland in the area were made unsustainable and financially worthless by the 1920s. In a twist of fate, this provided a perfect opportunity for the land to be acquired by the federal government to be set aside for preservation and restoration as part of the National Forest system. Today, the deep scars created by the erosion channels persist, but the forest has returned in a grand way. Towering over the Rich Woods site are huge sweet gum, ash, hackberry, beech, and oak trees. The area also hosts a rich wildflower population later in the spring. A trail follows the central bluff steeply downhill for about half a mile until it reaches the banks of the Enoree. I could hear the frogs grow louder as I neared the swampy flood plain. It is bisected by several small creeks before they join the river. But as the path leveled off and I approached the first creek crossing, the frogs, suspicious of my intrusion, fell silent. I turned and followed a trail that paralleled the creek bed and the pattern repeated itself. One by one, distant frogs ceased to sing as I grew near until only the sound of the wind in the trees remained. I scanned the banks, and at first, saw nothing. But as I continued to walk, some movement in the clear, shallow water caught my eye and I saw a fairly large frog settle onto the bottom until I safely passed. Two can play that game, I thought. I squatted beside the creek and waited. He wasn’t fooled. It occured to me that he had probably played this game on a previous occassion, matched against a great heron or raccoon when the stakes were nothing less than life or death. But as I watched him lying motionless on the bottom up popped the little guy pictured in this shot just a few feet upstream. He froze in hopes I hadn’t seen him. But I had gotten lucky. I slowly raised the 45-150 and squeezed off a few shots. Satisfied, I continued my walk, later catching sight of several more little frogs in the creek, including two locked in a lovers embrace just under the surface of the water. I chose not to interrupt their private moment and the chorus sang their thanks as I slowly climbed the bluff to the sounds of love filling the air.

Postscript: When I described the frog chorus I experienced on my trip today the question of what species I was hearing didn't occur to me. Imagine my surprise when, thanks to the eminent chempilot, that I learned that it was the Southern Chorus Frog. How's that for life imitating art?