I was walking with a group of my students on a very wet rainy early spring night along a dark Highway in Pennsylvania. It was about 10 PM and we were scanning the road with our flashlights. Had we lost something? No. This was a mission of rescue. Every year, amphibians migrate on late winter and early spring rainy nights from the terrestrial habitat where they spend much of the year to their breeding sites — ephemeral pools of water that fill with the fall and winter rains but dry during the summer. These pools are the primary breeding sites for most salamanders and frog species in North America. Because of the pools ephemeral nature, there is adequate time for the eggs to be laid and the young to develop before they migrate back to their terrestrial habitat where they spend the rest of the year. The ponds also provide refuge since fish and other predatory species depend on more permanent bodies of water.
But why were we there in the very wet dark hours of this night? The breeding site was separated from the upland habitat by a road with cars passing at 40 to 50 mph, unaware of the abundant much smaller non-human traffic crossing the road. Locations like this are common from New York to Georgia and in western Oregon and Washington. That night, as frequently occurred, we moved to the side of the road several times to make way for the high beams of an approaching car. As it raced by, several loud splats were heard – the sound of the collateral damage done by the passing vehicle, unaware of the night activity of amphibians crossing the road. The crossing area was long, and we were not able to bring salvation to all of the many migrants driven by the hormones of their breeding cycle.
Robin Wall Kimmerer describes in chapter Six of Braiding Sweetgrass a similar time when she also had a group of students on a rainy spring night in New York. She believes that “the modern world suffers a great sadness, a “species loneliness — estrangement from the rest of creation. We have built this isolation with our fear, with our arrogance, and with our homes brightly lit against the night. For a night, as we walked this road, those barriers dissolved and we began to relieve the loneliness and know each other once again.” She goes on to say that “Carrying salamanders to safety also helps us to remember the covenant of reciprocity, the mutual responsibility that we have for each other. As the perpetrators of the war zone on this road are we not bound to heal the wounds that we inflict?”
Some states are even building amphibian crossings on roads of high impact to protect these incredibly interesting and important species.
Ensatina eschscholtzii from Joe Sheldon’s back yard
Similar amphibian road crossing sites exist on Whidbey Island. Most are from Greenbank south because of the wetter conditions. But habitat loss and road traffic take a heavy toll on Whidbey also. Ephemeral ponds have been drained and the forests of the upland habitat logged. Even so, on a rainy spring night one can venture forth on a mission of rescue and find Pacific Chorus and Red-legged frogs, Western Toads, Rough-skinned Newts, as well as Northwestern, Ensatina, Long-toed, and possibly a Red-backed Salamander. You will occasionally find my friend Dave Parent patrolling the roads near his home – as well as others who want to make a difference!
Our prayer: Lord, when we are driving, even at night, let us be mindful of the other non-human beings who may be in our path — even salamanders, frogs, and earthworms. They do not deserve to be collateral damage due to our passing.
Thanks for listening.
— Joe Sheldon
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