Saving the tadpoles: one of my second jobs (Part 1)

Back in the 1990s, we regularly got summer afternoon thunderstorms. Round about June, the weather was sufficiently warm that after an afternoon downpour, the prairie (plains) spadefoot toads – and maybe an additional variety or two – would emerge from their underground torpor to make the trip downhill to the seasonal stock pond for a rousing one-night fling. Sometimes I might arrive home at dusk to help a traveler on his way down the lane, gently scooping him up and carrying him or her to the pond, where the 1 – 2″ little toad would be set free at water’s edge.

These “ponds” are basically 1- to 2-foot deep mud puddles lined with bentonite clay. The night following the storm is filled with the chorus of little toads croaking out their songs of love. About a week later, dark little tadpoles emerge from the eggs hidden who-knows-where beneath the surface of the water.  If all goes well, another three weeks or so later, the tadpoles would have increased in size, squared up a little, grown legs, absorbed their tails, and disappeared to wherever they hide until it’s their time to return to the place of their birth.

Years before, my kids and I had lived in a growing neighborhood on the fringes of residential development. Across the field behind our house ran a paved path up to the next road, where there was a 7-11 convenience store. The neighborhood kids liked to go up to the store for Slushies and snacks. One day, a contingent of my children and their neighborhood friends came running home with the entreaty that we must find containers to save the tadpoles from the puddle drying up in the field near the 7-11. We happened to have a small pond in the back yard where we safely relocated as many of the tadpoles as we could gather. And we had pelleted fish food made for outdoor pond feeding, so we could ensure the tadpoles would be well fed. So, years later when the rains failed to keep my own stock pond full through the tadpole portion of the toads’ lifecycle – I was familiar with the drill.

The first year that I had to save the tadpoles on the ranch, I caught as many as possible and put them into a 150-gallon Rubbermaid stock tank filled with water from the well. The problem with that, as I discovered, was that the final transition from living in the underwater world to breathing air through nostrils and becoming land-oriented could be sudden, and its imminence was not obvious. If the newly-developed toads didn’t have an easy way to exit the water, they could drown. I ran 3/4″ irrigation pipe to the stock pond. That way, all I had to do was run water from the well a quarter of a mile away down to the stock pond, as necessary, and otherwise let nature take its course.

This involves periodic trips to visit the stock pond, to ensure that developing tadpoles are sufficiently supplied with water. And in 2020, I learned that new delights can be discovered by keeping water in the pond area through the remainder of the summer season. Who knew that tiny clam-looking mollusks could dart around, actually swimming in a shallow seasonal inland puddle? (See the September 1, 2020 blog article.)

We had a good rain May 31 this year of 2021, as well as some subsequent rain through June. I’ve been checking on this year’s crop of tadpoles every few days and running a bit more water into their puddle.

This year (2021), we had a week or so that was unusually hot and dry for the middle of June.

The birds were trying to cool down. Families of Lark Buntings, meadowlarks, and a few others, were visiting the pond for drinks of water and maybe a bath. We have a photo and video of a father Lark Bunting and his young brood stopping by the pond, as well as a photo or two of brilliant blue damselflies, and perhaps a glimpse of some tadpoles.

Normally, with another two weeks or so, the tadpoles would have matured and gone on their merry way, hopping off to dig a burrow in which to spend their time in a state of torpor until a favorable thunderstorm would fill their pond and call them to come and pursue their life’s purpose of helping their species survive.

But, this year of 2021, that’s not what happened. Rather than several hundred or even one or two thousand tadpoles of one or two species, there were a few thousand (my estimate was at least 4,000) of a few different species.

None had as yet matured by mid-August, and to save them I needed to take action. Please see “Saving the tadpoles: when too many tadpoles have not enough food“.