By Rob Bettaso



Without trying to, I was recently able to recapture a bit of my early youth. I had borrowed a dip net from my friend and former co-worker, Dave, a fellow retiree from the Arizona Game and Fish Department, and walked down to a local creek around sunset on a beautiful summer’s eve. My goal was to conduct a bit of backyard zoology.

When I arrived at the creek, there were violet-blue monsoon clouds building along the horizon and there was a good chance I was going to get rained on, but I didn’t mind. The air was thick, both with humidity and with swarming bugs. Fortunately, none of the bugs were biting and most looked like they were some sort of gnat, midge, no-see-um, or whatever we non-entomologists call them. The mugginess and the swarming insects both reminded me of growing up in southeastern Michigan. The dip net I carried, and was about to wield, was much more sturdy than the type I had used as a kid, but it further added to the effect of stepping back in time.

Blue and orange dragonflies hovered above the marshy creek; thick with cattails, reeds, rushes, and other types of aquatic vegetation. Clumps of lime-green algal mats occluded much of the surface of the creek, which was backed up into a small pond where it slowed to run through two culverts and under a neighborhood street.

I walked along the water’s edge and was impressed by the abundant bullfrogs, which gave a characteristic squeak as they sprang from shore and into the safety of the surprisingly deep water. In the distance, I could hear other bullfrogs vocalizing as they made their deep-pitched bellow – a distinctive “Br-wummm” call. Where I had grown up in Michigan, bullfrogs were not only common, but they were also native to the area. Here in Arizona, however, the bullfrog is an invader and a destructive one at that.

Let me back up a bit though, as while the bullfrog is an “invader,” it is one that we essentially are responsible for introducing into the Rocky Mountain and Pacific states. Bullfrogs were somewhat popular with 19^th and 20^th century settlers because they can be eaten directly (at roughly 8 inches from snout to rump, the bullfrog is, by far, the largest frog species in the country) or they can be used as bait for catching game fishes. I’m not much of an angler so I’ve never tried any frogs as bait. Even if I was an avid fisher, I doubt that I could bring myself to put a frog on a hook, they are just too cute and too much a part of my childhood. That said, I have eaten frog-legs a time or two; but only from the large, meaty, and non-native bullfrogs and even then, while their flesh can be quite scrumptious, I don’t like killing them. If you find this level of squeamishness pitiful, well, I suggest that you take a close look into a frog’s eyes sometime and tell me you don’t think that there is an undeniable “soulfulness” in their gaze.

It was not, however, adult bullfrogs that I was after with the trusty dip net. Rather, I had noticed in previous days that bullfrog tadpoles (or, if you prefer the more poetic term: pollywogs) were abundant in this little backwater. Because bullfrog tadpoles can over-winter and therefore continue growing the following spring, they can reach an impressive size prior to beginning their metamorphosis from their larval tadpole form and into their adult frog form.

My dip net at the ready, I walked toward the bank/pond interface and quickly realized that the boundary between the terrestrial vegetation and the water was a false one -- as before I was even close to the water’s edge, the vegetation gave way and I dropped into the shin-deep, dank water. Bah, a soaker! More shades of youth, when, for years, I don’t think I had dry socks or sneakers for most of the summer months, so frequently did I unwittingly plunge into pond and creek water.

After regaining my footing and shaking the pond muck off my shoe, I moved to another bank and launched the net into the water. I scooped up the net and carefully sifted through the black ooze in its mesh and found mostly small aquatic insects and other life forms even more “primitive” than bugs. No vertebrates though, not bullfrog tadpoles nor nonnative minnow species – my target organisms for this outing.

I walked around the backwater and took several more stabs into the water and eventually landed a small crawdad (also an invasive nonnative), which would also work well for what I needed. And what, you ask, was the point of all this splashing around in a muddy backwater, trying to dip up a tadpole or whatever? Well, I was looking for food for a new “pet.”

I put the nearly 2-inch-long crawdad (aka crayfish, crawfish, or mudbug) into a small plastic container and headed toward the nearby White Mountain Nature Center. The little crustacean scooted about in the container as I walked through lush meadows of blooming flowers – sunflowers, asters, and daisies; just to name a few of the members from the Composite Family. Scattered large raindrops had started to fall and the cooling temperatures were a relief. I did, however, quicken my pace when I noticed the first jagged bolt of lightning crash down from angry-looking clouds to the east and I was relieved when I reached the safety of the Nature Center.

I grew up as a frequent visitor to the two nature centers near my childhood home: the Nankin Mills and the Kensington Park nature centers, both of which are still there. As a kid, I never tired of examining the plaster casts of animal tracks, the pelts of the various skinned mammal specimens, the many birds at the feeders, and, most of all, the live wildlife displays. My favorite live wildlife viewing opportunities were the terrarium that housed various species of reptiles and amphibians; known collectively as “herps.”

For several years now, our own White Mountain Nature Center has been home to two turtles: a Red-eared Slider and a species of Map Turtle. Neither species are native to Arizona but sliders are somewhat common throughout the U.S. since they are sold in the pet trade and once they get large and/or somewhat smelly they are unfortunately often released into the wild. Several species of Map Turtles are becoming increasingly rare in their native eastern habitats and, as far as I know, are not found even as an invasive species in Arizona. Both individuals have thrived in an enormous tank at the Nature Center and are well looked after by Mary Ellen and Carla (long-time and energetic participants in many different White Mountain Nature Center activities).

For a time, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (Service) provided and maintained a second large tank at the Nature Center. In this second tank, the Service kept native fishes including several Apache Trout (Arizona’s “state fish”). The fishes grew old and eventually, one by one, went to the big fishbowl in the sky, so I recently asked the Service if we could convert the tank from a native fish aquarium to a native herp terrarium. The Service generously agreed and so I called my friend and former co-worker, Dan, at the Arizona Game and Fish Department (Department) to ask if he had any native reptiles that had been turned in to the Department by the public. He did, and so we began planning and preparing for the transfer of a Terrestrial Garter Snake to the vacant terrarium at the Nature Center.

The snake is the newest member of the Nature Center’s live wildlife, which includes not only the turtles but also several birds, mostly raptors, which are the nucleus for what will eventually be a public “raptor show” (similar to how the San Diego Zoo works with macaws and parrots to increase public awareness and appreciation of those fascinating birds). So far, the snake is adapting to his new home although I have yet to make the terrarium look like a natural habitat as I am currently monitoring how the snake adapts to his new digs. In time, we will have “interpretive materials” so that the public can not only enjoy watching the live herps but will also learn about their natural history and conservation status in Arizona.

The two tanks, housing the turtles and snake, may also be a good way for herp-averse individuals to overcome their fear of snakes and other “scaly or slimy” critters. Knowledge and understanding can go a long way towards building an appreciation and a concern for the well-being of these vital living examples of Arizona’s diverse native wildlife. So, do feel free to visit the Nature Center and see for yourself how interesting these critters can be.