Morning Comes to Elk Mountain: Dispatches from the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge

February

February Last night striped skunks were on the prowl, evidenced by the number of carcasses along the roads leading into the refuge. It’s skunk breeding season and the animals haven’t learned that a glandular chemical defense system won’t deter a charging automobile. Those that survive great horned owls and vehicular carnage will be responsible for a new generation of young skunks in about two months’ time. But, for now, a striped skunk roadside rendezvous oftentimes results in crow carrion. February in the Wichitas is a month that can’t quite figure itself out. It’s as if winter is frantically straining to keep the door closed as spring shoves from the other side. Generally by mid-month the first tiny bluets and spring beauties can be found pushing up through oak leaf litter. Early in the month the upper branches of wild plum, bois d’arc, and willow show a flush of awakening in tones of dark purple, lemon yellow, and orange. The frog chorus increases in both numbers and volume as February melds into March and birds start chattering about nesting territory. WINTER WHITETAIL. Refuge deer turn to low quality browse like eastern red cedar when snow and ice limit winter foraging. 32 Morning Comes to Elk MouNtain Then a winter storm blows in and spring’s advance stays on hold until the south winds return. As soon as the landscape warms up a few degrees the bluebirds are back in nesting mode and the little chorus frogs are calling from ephemeral pools. The desire to reproduce is once again building to a crescendo, and a few bitter days are more of a recess than a deterrent. However, during this particular winter the abnormal snow and ice of January have taken a toll. An oak grove halved by a small intermittent stream holds what’s left of an elk. The animal died next to a shallow pool, and this is where the coyotes have come to feast. Little remains other than scattered hair and freshly chewed bones, mostly legs and ribs, and a mangled hide that will soon be shredded by any number of large and small appetites. In time the remains will be reduced to residue as the drama of life and death grows increasingly focused on renewal. Strecker’s chorus frogs, largest of the chorus frog tribe and among the earliest breeders, have moved into the small granite pools of a seasonal stream tumbling down from the Charon’s Garden highlands. The largest pools are approximately three and a half feet in diameter, six to eight inches deep and lined with finely ground granite gravel that shines like gold when the sun breaks through a low overcast. The little frogs, about an inch and a half long, are calling from clumps of grass that grew in the pools as they dried up last summer . Now the tips extend just above the waterline, providing calling perches and egg-laying structure. The water is cold and the frogs are darker than the buff and reddish brown shades that predominate in warmer weather. One of the males is a dark gray-bluish green mixture, others a blend of gray and brown earth tones. A male about the size of a silver dollar seeks to summon a mate while floating in a shallow pool. Another rides a thin grass stem that’s bent over from the tiny amphibian’s weight, the tip barely FEBRUARY 33 touching the water. The vocals are riveting even if choir members tend to be on the small side.In fact the entire length of the canyon echoes with Strecker’s chorus frog music, the vocals like a highpitched whistle from a distance, but coarser and in noticeable couplets when standing closer to the source. The chorus frogs choose these temporary pools due to the absence of predatory fish. Stocky little Strecker’s, which tend to look somewhat chubby with forelegs that resemble the arms of a Sumo wrestler, breed opportunistically when the water temperature resisters between 35 to 70 degrees Fahrenheit. Females make their way from under rocks and out of burrows to the breeding pools, ready to shed clumps of eggs while clasped by an amorous male. Fertilized egg clumps are attached to aquatic plants and twigs, and a single female may lay up to 700 eggs in 75 separate clumps. If conditions are conducive, the eggs may hatch in...