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fishing lines; March of the frog hunters

Keith Elliott
Saturday 29 July 1995 23:02 BST
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THE New York State angling and hunting permit is pretty dull reading - except for the section on frogs. In the backwoods, there is a size limit and a strict season for frog-hunting. Pond owners jealously guard their amphibians. Signs saying "Posted" ring the most insignificant puddle. I'm told that the seriousness with which the pond is protected is in direct proportion to the freshness of the paint. If the sign is cracked and the paint peeling, you can probably pot a frog or two in relative safety. But fresh yellow paint means a wad of buckshot up your ass if you take another step.

I was only there for the fishing, not the frog-hunting, so I found the whole thing highly amusing. The bass weren't feeding, so I resorted to a cold beer and reading the rule book (best done before you start fishing rather than afterwards). When I found the section on frog-hunting, I couldn't wait to tell my hosts.

"Did you know your rule book has something on frog-hunting?" I chuckled. "Yes. Why?" they replied without a trace of humour.

I adjusted quickly. "Er, do you hunt them yourself?" guessing from their po-faced answer what the response would be. "Oh yes. The legs are delicious. They taste better than chicken. Everyone round here protects their frogs." (What they meant was that they guarded their frogs so they could kill them and not someone else.)

Intrigued, I asked: "How do you hunt them?" "With a .22," they said. It struck me this might squidge up the frog a bit, but you don't argue with locals, especially when several guns hang on the wall in plain sight.

A few days later, I was canoeing in the nearby Adirondacks. My guide, who looked like Grizzly Adams, was a cheery fellow, wise in the ways of the woods. As we brewed tea and watched an osprey hunt, I brought up the subject of frogs. "Hey, you'll like this. The people I was staying with at Black Lake hunt frogs!"

"So?"

"Er, they hunt them with a .22," I said by way of hiding my embarrassment at the realisation that he was clearly a frog-hunter, too.

Grizzly burst into laughter. "That's ridiculous," he said, wiping his eyes with amusement. I laughed along. "How do you hunt them, then?" I asked."With a club, of course," he said.

I relate this little yarn because it should prove reassuring to the chintz- curtained residents of Clapham, south London, who are apparently being invaded by a plague of killer frogs that are eating kittens, guinea pigs and moorhens. According to last week's Evening Standard an amphibian expert has warned that these frogs are as dangerous as pit bull terriers. One local, Peter Krijgsman, whose surname spoken quickly sounds like the sort of noise these frogs make when mating (it can be heard from 100 yards), is quoted as saying. "The first time I saw them, I had nightmares. They are incredibly ugly, and for something so small, extraordinarily vicious-looking."

Leaving aside for the moment the horrors that locals must have experienced to find something less than beautiful in their midst, it's fascinating to discover that these are the same variety of frog those Adirondacks locals find so finger-lickin' good. The American bullfrog, rana catesbeiana, can grow up to eight inches long and produce tadpoles that reach nearly seven inches.

And there is some truth in the seemingly wild yarns. The tadpoles are very large, though they may not become frogs until their second year. Bullfrogs will eat anything they can swallow, including fish and baby ducks. You generally hear them rather than see them. They have a spooky, deep-pitched call, rather like a starter motor in its death throes. But take over Clapham? Though many would see frogs as more amenable than the people who live there, even English Nature is not convinced that a frog invasion is imminent.

However, there are bound to be serious ramifications. Once Claphamites realise what an asset lurks in their ponds, I'm sure they will organise something more substantial than gnomes to guard their watery territory. You can see the signs now: "This pond is protected by Securicor." Property prices will soar. Estate agents will add a bullfrog-infested pond to the desirable list of features. And those dinner parties! It will surely become de rigueur to supply home-grown frogs for those cosy fondue parties or barbecues!

Believe me, the frogs have more to fear from the locals.

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