When the sun goes down, the dark world of a flowing river comes to life. Wildlife abounds along water courses and many critters wait until nightfall to begin their secretive explorations of the watery world for food. There is no better way to see and hear the animals that prowl, howl, hoot, swim, fly and croak than to go on a night time frog gigging trip. It is an adventure like none other.
Jason Parsons, Pat Ybarra and his two sons, Lance and Gavin, joined me for a fun filled evening of frog gigging on the Meramec River recently. The boys were especially excited as I pulled into Ybarra’s place to pick everyone up. We stowed everyone’s gear and packed ourselves into my pickup truck for the drive to the river.
The boys asked a thousand questions as we drove down the highway. They wanted to know everything from how many frogs we would get to who would trying gigging first. It promised to be an interesting evening.
Everyone helped get the boat into the water and all of the lifejackets and other gear transferred from the truck to the boat. All five of us loaded up to take a little boat ride until darkness neared. The ride gave everyone a chance to become comfortable with the boat before we began our night’s work.
We drifted slowly downriver taking in all of the sights and recalled the places where, several years previously, all the girls in the family had gigged their first frogs. J.P. and and I relived some laughs from that night so long ago.
I had a particular slough in mind to begin searching for frogs. We motored slowly downstream about a half mile to the entrance to the backwater slough. We had to climb out of the boat and drag it through the narrow, shallow entrance to the shallow water area which was surrounded by fallen trees and willows.
Soon after we entered the slough the first frog bellowed at the far end of the waterway. Thirty minutes of daylight remained. The Ybarra boys began building sand castles on a spit of sand they had discovered. Pat Ybarra and Jason Parsons decided to do a little daylight stalking on shore. They had each heard frogs in different locations and decided to test their skills. I watched.
I heard Parsons mumbling, then he jabbed with his gig. More mumbling followed. It seemed the frog heard him coming and hightailed it through the weeds to higher ground. Parsons vowed to return for revenge.
Soon bats began to fly. We made our last preparations before shoving off into the oncoming darkness.
I poled the boat slowly down the shoreline while Ybarra shined a big light along the banks. Parsons manned the front of the boat as the first gigger.
Only minutes into the trip, Ybarra spotted the first frog of the evening. I cocked the boat just slightly so that I could see the frog illuminated by the powerful light.
The boys whispered and pointed at the frog as I maneuvered the long, narrow boat into position. Ten feet, five feet and moving. Parsons readied his gig as I closed the distance to two feet. A quick jab and Parsons had his first bullfrog of the evening.
The Ybarra boys entertained themselves by checking out the frog while we continued the hunt. Within minutes we were on the second frog. Everyone had their job down pat. Ybarra held the light steadily on the frog while I maneuvered the boat. Parsons, poised for to strike with his gig, leaned far forward to make the kill. He struck the frog with a great deal of force. However, when he started to raise the frog up out of the mud and moss it managed to wriggle off the gig and get away. All of us in the boat razzed Parsons about letting a little frog outdo him.
He reached the far end of the slough. Ybarra’s light picked up a couple of frogs in very shallow water ahead of us. He and Parsons stepped out of the boat and slowly crept towards the frogs. Ten minutes later they returned to the boat with the pair of bullfrogs in hand.
Ybarra and Parsons switched places in the boat. Ybarra had become the gigger and Parsons the spot lighter. Frogs groaned up and down the slough. The evening promised to provide several more frogs.
It didn’t take long for Ybarra to find and spear the next frog. We quickly located another frog about 20 yards down the bank. As we neared the location, we discovered that the frog was well hid back up under the foliage of a fallen tree. Ybarra, determined to get to the critter, slid over the gunwale into the dark water and black mud on the bottom. He quickly sank to his thighs in the slough mud, but insisted on pursuing the treetop frog.
The situation looked doubtful. Ybarra would have to wade through limbs and mud and logs to get near the frog. Then he would have to reach up over a high log and gig downwards to stick the frog which had perched on another log.
All bets were on the frog as Ybarra made his final step and tiptoed to get over the log in front of him. He took long seconds to steady himself. He eased the gig slowly downwards and made a swift jab. Everybody in the boat began quizzing him about the results. “Of course I got it,” came his reply.
Ybarra managed to nail a couple more respectable frogs. As we neared the river end of the slough, where we had entered, Parson’s light caught a frog sitting on a mud flat. Lance, the youngest of the Ybarra boys asked if he could try to get that frog.
Lance and his dad, Pat, slid over the side of the boat together. They quickly sank into the black, stinky, swamp mud. However, Lance was determined and continued his approach. When he reached the bank, he sank so deep into the mud he could not pull his feet out. When he finally pulled one foot free, it was without a boot. Lance slogged onward. When his stealthy, muddy approach had brought him to within 8 feet of the frog, the frog had had enough and hopped into the slough. Everyone heaved a big sigh for Lance and congratulated him for a grand effort.
Midnight neared. Everyone, tired and muddy, agreed to head for home.
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