Lee Rentz Photography Journal – A journal of the thoughts, pictures, and adventures of photographer and writer Lee H. Rentz. Inspired by nature, with a passion for ideas both visual and literary.

A LOON STORY

*Common Loon with reflections of feather patterns on Beaver Lake, Colville National Forest*

My wife and I were traveling through northeast Washington State and were getting tired while exploring this remote region of ghost towns and old mining claims. We found a U.S. Forest Service campground located between a pair of lakes, and set up camp for the night. The campground was nestled in a beautiful forest of Western Larches and other conifers, and forested mountains rose above the lakes. We chose a campsite about 100 feet from Beaver Lake; we couldn’t see the lake, but it was just a short trail hike away from our campsite. As we settled in for the evening, we heard the unmistakable tremulous call of a Common Loon, one of our favorite birds.

The next morning we explored Beaver Lake where we had heard the call, and quickly found a pair of adult loons; one was sitting on a nest where a couple of stranded logs formed an island in the middle of the small lake. The logs had been there long enough that soil had built up, supporting the growth of grasses and other plants that helped camouflage the nest. While one loon sat on the nest, its mate fished quietly nearby. Both parents helped incubate the eggs, switching off.

Our plans were flexible enough that we decided to stay one more night than we had originally planned. I checked out the possible locations for photographing the loon nest from the shore, since we didn’t have a boat, and found one brushy viewpoint where I enjoyed a good view from near ground level. It was far enough away that I wouldn’t unduly disturb the loons (though they certainly knew I was there), but close enough to get some good pictures. I worked parts of two days from that location and took some good nest pictures. After I photographed the loons, I decided I was unlikely to get any different behavior pictures, and we didn’t have time enough to wait for the hatchlings to emerge on this trip, so we left, hoping to return.

*Beaver Lake with storm clouds and rain*

*Loon nest with two eggs on Beaver Lake* *during brief break from the nest*

*Loon with tree reflections while cruising Beaver Lake*

*Loons at nest with changeover of adults about to occur*

*Loons trading places during a rainstorm*

*Loon *on the nest* protecting eggs from the rain*

We looked at data about loon nesting, and found that the average time of egg incubation is 28 days, so we made an educated guess that we should return in three weeks in order to see the young just after hatching. Upon our return we camped in the same campground and quickly went to the lake to check the status of the loons. We immediately spotted them at the same end of the narrow lake as the nest. The young were tiny, so we only missed the hatching by one or two days. I had always wanted to witness a loon chick riding on a parent’s back, and this trip gave us that opportunity. When the young were tired from swimming, they would climb up a parent’s back and go along for the ride. The other parent would then dive for fish to bring back to the babies. It was wondrous!

*Loon adult with chick riding on its back; this provides rest and protection for the baby*

*Loon carrying one chick; the young will climb aboard for several weeks early in life*

*Loon pair, with one feeding a fish to a chick*

Two years later, in 2024, we read a news story that a family of four loons, two adults and two chicks, was shot and killed on the evening of June 21. This was the same male that we had observed two years before, and it had claimed this nesting territory for 11 years and had fathered 14 young during this period. The female was a different one; she had been the male’s partner in 2023 and 2024. The two young would have been just days old, based on the timeline of our observations from 2022.

Why were they shot? I’m quite certain that it was done by a fishermen who saw them as competition for the fish in Beaver Lake. Shooting a loon is illegal, punishable by a $2,000 fine for each loon. As of this writing, the shooter was never caught, but most people grieved the loss. It was particularly sad because there are so few nesting pairs of loons in Washington–just over 20 for the whole state.

We took a brief return trip in May of 2025 to determine if any loons had replaced those that had been murdered. The good news: as of May 5, a pair of loons was occupying this excellent territory and we saw a loon sitting on a nest at the same location in the lake. Life carries on despite setbacks.

*Loon swimming low with wings spread; I’m not sure what this behavior means*

*Loon stretching and flapping wings; perhaps to readjust feathers*

*Beaver Lake in beautiful late afternoon light*

To read more about the tragic shooting of loons that occurred here in 2024, go to the following links:

https://www.outdoorlife.com/conservation/washington-loon-poaching/

https://content.govdelivery.com/accounts/WADFW/bulletins/3a5638e

https://www.facebook.com/groups/NEWABirders/posts/1405789666776826

To view more work by photographer Lee H. Rentz, go to leerentz.com

CALIFORNIA SEA LIONS IN LA JOLLA: Observing Nature’s Playfulness

No, you won’t see pictures here of a sea lion balancing a ball on its nose or playing a musical instrument in an amusement park for the delight of tourists; such behavior does not interest me. What I did enjoy was a couple of extraordinary days observing wild California Sea Lions at play along the California coast.

This was our first time visiting San Diego, and we went to the La Jolla neighborhood where there are stunningly beautiful Pacific Ocean beaches with easy access. Here we watched the waves rolling in on a sunny late summer day and immediately noticed the California Sea Lions in the surf. Not only were they swimming, they were actually body surfing the waves with evident joy. At first, I thought perhaps this was just an efficient way to reach the shore, but then we observed the seals going back out to ride the waves time after time. It looked exhilarating, and much the same as humans riding the waves.

This is also a place to go snorkeling in a sheltered little bay called La Jolla Cove. I mentally had to gear up for it, since I hadn’t been snorkeling for a couple of years and I had to gauge the waves to see how difficult it would be. It turned out to be no problem, though the cove wasn’t terribly interesting compared to my favorite snorkeling locations. But it did have flowing sea grasses and rocks and bright orange Garibaldi fish to keep me entertained.

I was about ready to call it a day when a sea lion streaked past my fins. Then a pair of young sea lions showed up, playing all around me as I quickly photographed their antics. One of them zoomed straight at me, mouth wide open as I photographed it from less than a foot away.

Play is a vital part of learning for intelligent animals, whether wolf or otter or sea lion or human. It teaches social skills and survival skills and is simply a wonderful way to interact with the world we’ve been given. Go out and play!

*California Sea Lions catching a wave on a La Jolla beach*

*Swimmers and snorkelers at La Jolla Cove, San Diego*

*California Sea Lions, Zalophus californianus, hauled out and resting on a La Jolla beach*

*One of my fins while a sea lion zoomed by*

*California Sea Lions, Zalophus californianus, underwater at La Jolla Cove*

*Garibaldi seen while snorkeling in La Jolla Cove*

*California Sea Lion surfacing above me*

Lee H. Rentz is a photographer and writer based in Michigan. His lifetime of work can be viewed at leerentz.com. All words and photographs are copyrighted and may be licensed for publication.

HARVESTING PACIFIC RAZOR CLAMS ON A WASHINGTON STATE BEACH

We occasionally buy a frozen pound of commercially harvested Pacific Razor Clams from a seafood store or supermarket. Fried in hot oil, they are the taste of the seashore brought home. I’ve eaten all sorts of clams–-steamers, quahog, soft-shell, Manilla, geoduck, horse, and cockles–-but to me the best flavor of all is the Razor Clam. We add a light coating of flour and fry them in hot oil at a near-smoking temperature for one minute. The taste is delicate and sweet.

I had always wanted to go to a beach where razor clams were being harvested, and in the winter of 2025 we twice had a chance to be out on the sandy Pacific Ocean beaches of Washington State during the legal days for harvesting, which are established by the state Department of Fish and Wildlife. On the first trip we were observers at Copalis Beach and my wife was extremely jealous of all the clammers, but on the second trip, to Mocrocks Beach, we had the proper equipment and licenses to get our own hands sandy.

*Short time exposure of recreational Razor Clam harvesters at low tide on Copalis Beach*.

Pacific Razor Clams live in the sand, and a hint of their presence occurs at low tide, when they leave a subtle dimple or low volcano-shaped mound in the sand. It takes a practiced eye to see the tell, but we were able to figure it with a bit of help from kind people on the beach who were willing to share their knowledge.

Razor Clams can dig fast, so clammers have to dig faster. The traditional way to do this was with a clam shovel, which has a narrow blade that is longer than it is wide. This requires practice, like everything worth doing, but we observed some experts handily getting their limits with this tool. The more common implement is a clam gun. Despite the name, the clam gun has no bullets or powder. Instead, it is a simple metal tube about five inches in diameter and 12 to 18” long, with a handle that makes it up to about 36” tall overall. The clammer finds a tell, then places the tube over the clam trace and quickly wiggles and wriggles it into the sand as far as it will go. Then, the clammer uses a finger to cover a small vent hole in the handle-–to create a vacuum—and pulls up the column of sand. He or she then moves the gun away from the dug hole, releases the finger, and allows the sand to fall out–-hopefully with a clam inside. Since the clams go deep, often the clammer needs to dig into the previously made hole a second or third time to reach the clam and is not always successful.

*Razor Clam harvesting using clam gun that is wiggled into the sand, then pulled out*.

*Razor Clam brought up from where it was buried using a clam gun*.

*A Razor Clam of typical size; we found that four per person is a good portion for dinner*.

As of this writing, I am 74 years old and I found that work with the clam gun was exhausting, but fun to try and gratifying when a clam comes out of the sand. On the other hand, my back still hurts a week later. I was warned by the old guys 55 years ago to “lift with your legs, not with your back..” Did I listen?

The Department of Fish and Wildlife knows that the Razor Clam population is limited and demand is high, so they set up only a few days each year for digging. These are timed for exceptionally low tides, sometimes in the dark. Each clammer must buy a shellfish license, and the harvest is limited to 15 clams per day, and the license holder must keep each clam they find, even those broken or small.

*Recreational Razor Clam harvesters generally keep their catch in a mesh bag like this*.

The state has another responsibility, and that’s in keeping the clammers safe from shellfish poisoning. Razor Clams can ingest toxic forms of algae that can cause Paralytic Shellfish Poisoning (PSP) or Amnesic Shellfish Poisoning (ASP) or Diarrhetic Shellfish Poisoning (DSP). All are serious illnesses, and the State of Washington tests regularly for these toxins. They occur during times of algae blooms, and cannot be detected by taste. Because the clams are filter feeders that remove algae from the water, they can pick up enough toxins to make people sick. Fortunately the issue is rare, but it does occur.

Being on the beach was great fun, with lots of families sharing the pleasure of gathering food from the wild. For the children digging for the first time, it was a memorable experience, far from screens and in the healthy land of salt air and exotic creatures. For us, it was gratifying to finally see what the passion for clamming is all about: being out on a wild beach in the salt air, and digging a wild food that is unbelievably good. These are the kinds of hours that create the high points of our lives.

*Parents teaching their children the sport of Razor Clam diggin*g.

*Father and daughter harvesting *Razor Clams* using a clam gun on Copalis Beach*.

Driving on Copalis Beach at low tide during a Pacific Razor Clam harvest day. Driving on the sand beach is a Washington pastime in itself, and vehicles are required to stay on the upper beach so that clams are not harmed.

*Harvested Pacific Razor Clam at sunset on Mocrocks Beach.*

*Karen Rentz using a clam gun for harvesting Razor Clams on Mocrocks Beach.*

Viewed on the sand beach while digging for Pacific Razor Clams.

*Some of the 25 Pacific Razor Clams we dug before our bodies gave out and it got dark.*

*The first step in preparing the clams is to gently remove sand from the shells and soft parts.*

*The cleaned Razor Clams ready for removing the shells.*

*The clams are next dropped in boiling water for ten seconds to release the shells*.

*Then the clam bodies are cleaned, removing all parts except the muscle tissue.*

The cleaned clams are now ready for frying. We dry them, dip them in a wash of egg and milk, then dredge them in flour and seasoning. To fry them, we heat avocado oil to just below the smoking point, drop the clams into the oil, and fry them briefly until golden, only one to two minutes, flipping once during frying. Any longer than that, and the clams take on the toughness and texture of rubber bands. Cooked correctly, the flavor is sweet and mild.

*Father teaching his daughter how to harvest Razor Clams with a clam gun.*
*This is a wonderful family activity in a stunning setting.*

Washington State’s Razor Clam season and regulations vary every year. This link shows details of the season for early 2025: Harvesting Razor Clams.

Lee H. Rentz is a photographer and writer based on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State and in central Michigan. His lifetime of work can be viewed at leerentz.com

HAIR ICE: A Delightful Winter Phenomenon in America’s Pacific Northwest

On Washington State’s Olympic Peninsula, where my wife and I live, we have had a succession of beautiful days this winter, unusual in this land of winter rains. For nearly a week we enjoyed clear starry nights with below freezing temperatures, which generated heavy frost each morning. After sunrise the temperature warmed, melting most of the frost. These were perfect conditions for the formation of astoundingly beautiful hair ice, which we had only observed on one previous winter 11 years ago.

*Hair ice found on a fallen Red Alder branch, some strands sticking straight up, others curled down*.

We live on a small lot along a lake, in a forest consisting mostly of Western Red Cedar, Douglas Fir, and Red Alder. After thinking that conditions were good for hair ice, we walked out on our land, discovering about 15 examples of this phenomenon. We found the tufts of clear ice, reminiscent of flowing and silky white hair, on fallen Red Alder branches that are slowly decaying. It is always located on branches where at least part of the bark has fallen off, with the branches ranging in size from about ¾” to 2” (2-5 cm.) in diameter. The ice always emerges from the exposed wood, and never from the bark.

I wrote a weblog post after seeing hair ice for the first time, which I have a link to below. After that post, a new scientific study was published in the scientific journal Biogeosciences in 2015 which answers some of the questions about how hair ice forms. The German and Swiss scientists D. Hofmann, G. Preuss, and C. Mätzler wrote “Evidence for Biological Shaping of Hair Ice” after creating experiments looking at possible mechanisms for its formation. Yes, it’s technical, but fascinating.

The strands of hair ice curl together, retaining their integrity and not melting together because the decay fungus adds lignin and tannin–components of decaying wood–to the internal water that forms the ice. *These components stop recrystallization.*

Hair ice occurs on fallen dead branches of broadleaf trees (not conifers) in northern latitudes between 45° and 55°. I see it in Washington State, but it also occurs in the Scottish Highlands, Canada, Switzerland, Germany, Russia, and other countries within this geographic band. It is associated with wood decay in a variety of hardwood trees, including the Red Alder where I see it on the Olympic Peninsula. All of these trees share one characteristic: they are host to a decay fungus with the scientific name Exidiopsis effusa, which causes white rot in decaying wood. Without that winter-active fungus, hair ice does not form. Hair ice is NOT a form of frost; it results from a different process entirely.

*The same fallen Red Alder branch shown before and after hair ice formed; note that the part of the stick that is still covered with bark did not form hair ice*. *This is a typical amount of ice growth overnight.*

For hair ice to form, the fallen branches hosting this fungus cannot be frozen solid by extreme winter temperatures, so hair ice occurs best under conditions where the branches can heat up during the day, but then encounter freezing temperatures again at night. Plus the air has to be humid and the branches have to contain water. These are specific conditions and necessary for the ice to form, so hair ice is relatively rare.

Hair ice is created when moisture in the wood’s tiny channels, known as rays, comes to the surface and freezes. The still liquid water inside the rays is drawn to the surface by capillary action, where it freezes, forcing the forming hair further out into the air. This phenomenon is known as ice segregation, which consists of a sandwich of ice, porous wood, and liquid water inside the wood. Each strand of ice hair occurs where the wood ray opens to the surface of the branch.

Ice segregation occurs with or without the fungus present, but hair ice only forms when the living fungus is present. When not present, the ice is simply a coating of ice on the fallen branch, with no intricate structure.

The scientists concluded that the role of the fungus in creating hair ice is mostly in adding chemicals from the decomposing wood, specifically lignin and tannin, to the water. This acts as a stabilizer that prevents the hairs of ice from quickly melting together. When scientists looked microscopically at the wood that forms hair ice, they found that the fungus had complex networks of mycelium winding through the wood cells and rays, so that the water rising to the surface was passing through the tangled hyphae. This close contact must be what causes the water to pick up the fragments of lignin and tannin that help retain the exquisite shape of the hair.

The hairs of this formation look like they are emerging from bark, but they are actually coming out from exposed wood that is so densely covered with ice that it can’t be seen. The hairs are starting to melt as the day warms, with little beads of melting water along the hair strands.

We found that hair ice can form luxuriantly, with hair strands up to two inches (five cm.) long being created overnight–sometimes in just a few hours–then melting completely away as the day warms. Then, the next night, if temperatures dip below freezing, the hair ice returns on the same branch. This occurs repeatedly, and apparently can happen on the same fallen stick, when conditions are right, for a couple of years. If air temperatures fail to rise above freezing during the day, the hair ice does not melt away and can remain in place until the temperatures rise enough to melt it.

Fungi must produce mushrooms (called fruiting bodies) for reproduction. So what do the fruiting bodies of this fungus look like? We haven’t seen them, but apparently they occur as a whitish mass on the branches where the hair ice formed. We’ll be looking out for them on some of the branches on our land in the coming weeks as the season blends from winter into spring.

*Hair ice found on a fallen Red Alder branch, with an alder leaf to the right*

*Thousands of hair ice fibers growing like hair and even developing a sheen like human hair*

*Most hair ice forms on fallen branches, but this spiky hairstyle formed on a dead trunk still upright*

*Swirls and curls of ice hair; I’m not sure why it covers only part of the branc*h

*Hair ice growing from just one biologically active strip of the branch*

*Luxuriant hair ice*, *all from one cold night’s growth*

*Hair ice shown in the forest habitat where it is found*

*The bark in the foreground has separated from the wood; the hair ice is growing directly from bare wood*

*Some hair ice has a well-defined part, much as I wore my hair decades ago when I still had hair*

*This hair ice has just begun to melt; it looks a bit tangled like human hair that has been touched by a hot ember*

*Sometimes the hair ice only grows from one portion of the fallen branch*

*Wild style, bringing back the 80s in America*

*Hair ice is an unexpected detail in the winter forest, rarely seen*

*Hair ice grows in humid forests, where mosses also thrive*

FALLING SNOW: A Landscape Transformed

When I see snow falling, dissolving the landscape into a place entirely different, I am enthralled by the veiled look of the land. Every surface is softened and sounds are muffled and most people have retreated indoors. The familiar is transformed.

The pictures in this photographic essay were taken near my Michigan home, where I love to venture into the heaviest snow squalls, finding barns and forests transformed by the falling snow. I am fortunate to live near an Amish community, where their barns and buggies and homes are often featured in my winter photography. Enjoy the photographs, and find a new appreciation for winter.

Amish horse-drawn buggy traveling a road during a heavy April snowstorm in central Michigan, USA

GIRL WITH PAIL: An Amish girl, perhaps four years old, carrying a pail into the barn (L) and TWO OLD FRIENDS: Men walking together in a snowstorm (R)

DISSOLVING IN THE BLIZZARDS OF TIME: Red Pine forest in heavy snow

HOLSTEINS IN BLIZZARD: Cattle on an Amish farm during a heavy winter snowstorm

THE SOUL OF A NORTHERN WINTER: Amish barn reduced to simple planes and lines and surfaces

SNOW SOFTLY FALLING (L) and WALKING HOME FROM SCHOOL IN A BLIZZARD (R) Amish children

PAPER BIRCH IN FALLING SNOW: Photographed at night

CHRISTMAS LIGHTS AND SNOWFLAKES: Photographed at my home

WHITETAIL IN FALLING SNOW (L) AND LOG CABIN IN FALLING SNOW (R)

LAUNDRY DAY: Even in the dead of winter Amish women dutifully hang the laundry outside to dry, and even during a snowstorm

FEEDING THE HORSES: The responsibility for caring for livestock never ends, especially during a storm

WINTER INTRICACY: Sugar Maple in a farm field

BUGGY HEADING HOME (L) and CORN CRIB (R)

FREEDOM FROM WORK: After their chores are done, Amish horses are free to be horses

I TOOK THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED: Heavy snowstorm on a rural road in central Michigan

FALLING SNOW: A short time exposure in which the snow appears as streaks

My work is featured on my website: leerentz.com. You can order a print from the website, or contact me at lee@leerentz.com if you have any questions.

THE GRACE OF JELLYFISH

My first encounter with jellyfish was at the Monterey Bay Aquarium about 25 years ago. In a special chamber, orange jellies pulsed rhythmically against an electric blue background. It was mesmerizing, and I had never been so enthralled with an animal exhibit. I never forgot the experience, and the stunning pictures I took were a vivid reminder of the wonders of nature. The masses of jellyfish at the aquarium were Sea Nettles, and when I returned to Monterey some 20 years later, this exhibit was still my favorite.

In the last few years I have started photographing underwater creatures in the wild, sometimes using an underwater housing for my camera and sometimes photographing from above the water on marina docks or in rocky tide pools. In these pursuits, once again a favorite subject is jellyfish, of which Iʻve seen and photographed perhaps half-a-dozen species.

My most recent experience was at the Westport Marina, a large marina in Grays Harbor along the Washington State coast. This marina has commercial and charter fishing vessels that venture out on the Pacific Ocean, where tuna, salmon, halibut, and lingcod are taken. Charter boats filled with birders motor 30 nautical miles out to the edge of the continental shelf to see seabirds that never come closer to shore. From the docks, families lower baited crab traps to the bottom, catching Dungeness Crabs to take home. California Sea Lions provide a barking soundtrack for the marina and the smell of saltwater is rich in the air. It is a place that celebrates the sea.

I took these pictures on one day in August, 2024. We went to Westport to see animal life clinging to the docks, with the plan to photograph starfish and crabs and nudibranchs and other creatures. When we laid down on the docks and examined the life there, it was interesting, but there was too much movement from wind and waves to make photography possible. For those closeups I need little to no movement or the pictures come out blurry. Instead, we noticed that there were numerous Sea Nettles pulsing in the marina, so I decided to concentrate on photographing those. In fact, there were thousands of these jellyfish scattered throughout the marina, so finding them was not a challenge.

The pictures here represent my favorites of the roughly 250 photographs I took that day, with the videos created by my spouse, Karen Rentz.

Pacific Sea Nettle, Chrysaora fuscenscens, with a cloudy sky reflected on the water.

Sea Nettle pulsing through cloud reflections, showing the grace of its movement. Video by Karen Rentz

Pacific Sea Nettles eat zooplankton and small fish. The thin tentacles have stinging barbs that zap the prey.

A group of Pacific Sea Nettles that probably were moved close together by wind. Populations of this species have recently exploded over the Oregon and Washington coasts. Scientists theorize that the increase might be because of a decrease in predators (fish, sea turtles, and seabirds) or because of some changes due to seawater warming because of climate change.

Pacific Sea Nettle photographed underwater using a probe lens, which is waterproof to about 10.” It is shown up against a dock, which is covered with marine plants and animals. The term for this luxuriant growth is dock fouling; marina operators might not like the freeloaders, but it is a wonderful environment for photographers and budding marine biologists.

Another underwater view of the Pacific Sea Nettle next to the dock. There are also California Mussels attached to the dock, their shells slightly open so they can be filter-feeding plankton from the seawater.

My voice saying “Oh, natureʻs wonderful.” Video by Karen Rentz

An underwater closeup of the three parts of the jellyfish: the bell, which pulses rhythmically to move the animal through the water; the tentacles, which float widely from the bell to sting prey with specialized cells called nematocysts; and ruffled parts known as oral arms, whose purpose is to move food from the tentacles to the mouth, which is located under the bell.

Pacific Sea Nettles can drift with ocean currents and waves, but they also can move by the jet propulsion created by the pulsating bell. Watching this movement is mesmerizing.

The bell moves with mesmerizing grace through the sea. Video by Karen Rentz

Pacific Sea Nettles are amazing creatures, able to thrive despite lack of a brain, heart, or nervous system.

While watching the Sea Nettles, a much larger Lionʻs Mane Jellyfish, Cyanea capillata, came into view, dragging two Sea Nettles that it had captured and was starting to eat. In the foreground is a Pacific Sea Nettle which might still be able to get away. I assume that the Sea Nettles can sense danger even though they donʻt have a brain telling them to be very, very afraid. For size comparison, this Pacific Sea Nettle is about six inches across, while the Lionʻs Mane is about 24 inches across the bell. Both can sting, but the Sea Nettle sting is supposed to be minor; when I was stung by a Lionʻs Mane, it felt like a wasp had stung me. I read that when a swimmer encounters a Lionʻs Mane up close and personal, the initial stinging effect is of a warm sensation over the swimmerʻs body, followed by a feeling of effervescence–followed later by pain. I donʻt think Iʻll ever go swimming with these jellyfish!

As the Pacific Sea Nettleʻs bell pulses, it creates little waves. This Nettle is about six inches across, but they can be up to about 30 inches across, with tentacles extending 15 feet long. The Lionʻs Mane Jellyfish, in contrast, can grow to about 7 feet across, with tentacles extending up to 120 feet–making it the longest animal on earth.

Pacific Sea Nettle creating waves as it moves. I love seeing these creatures, such beautiful animals that still seem wonderfully exotic to me: a man who grew up far from the ocean and all its extravagant forms of life.

The rhythmic contractions of the bell propel the jelly through the water. This species has been observed following prey and swimming 3,600 vertical feet in the ocean in one night! Video by Karen Rentz

Lee Rentz is an environmental photographer, covering nature and human relationships with the land. For an extensive look at his work go to Lee Rentz Photography

NIGHTS OF THE SPRING PEEPERS

*Spring Peeper, Pseudacris crucifer, male peeping during spring mating season*

Spring is nature’s most joyous time to be a naturalist in northern latitudes as the world awakens from its long winter sleep. Near our Michigan home, Amish farmers are out in early March, when they begin to collect Sugar Maple sap from the awakening trees, and they use horse-drawn plows to prepare the earth for planting. Wave after wave of birds arrive from the southland, from Sandhill Cranes to Baltimore Orioles and hundreds more. The land awakens with spring wildflowers before the trees leaf out. The first insects appear, including Mourning Cloak butterflies that have overwintered under bark or leaves, and the Common Green Darner that has migrated up from the south. These are all great stories for a naturalist, but there is also a chorus that, to me, signifies that spring is here.

Video of Spring Peeper calling next to the pond

When night time air temperature rises into the range of about 35 to 40 degrees Fahrenheit, each little pool in the forest comes alive with the songs of Northern Spring Peepers. These tiny chorus frogs, each about the size of a thumbnail, peep together around the shores of a permanent or temporary pond–one that has no fish as predators. These are all male frogs trying fervently to attract mates. The calls begin shortly after sunset and end in the early morning hours, before the first traces of dawn light bring predators in the form of birds to the ponds.

Where I live in the middle of Michigan’s mitten, there are numerous little glacial kettle ponds, left as chunks of ice by the last ice age. When the ice melted, it left a depression filled with water, with high banks surrounding the new pond. These ponds are too small to support fish but are just right for Midland Painted Turtles, Common Eastern Toads, and Northern Spring Peepers. I set out on two nights to figure out how to see and photograph the peepers and I chose a pond that I could have easy access to. On the first night, the peepers were calling loudly when my nephew and I slip-slided down the steep hill leading down to the kettle lake. The frogs heard us coming and immediately became deathly quiet. We patiently waited without moving, and the peeps gradually slipped from stealth mode and awakened the heavens again with joyous noise. I spent a long time looking for the source of the calls, and finally found one little peeper calling from under the overhang of a fallen oak leaf right next to the pond. I was only able to get one photograph with a macro lens, a large bulky lens next to these tiny creatures. It was the opposite of stealth.

The setting: a small glacial kettle pond in the forest

Two nights later, I returned to the same pond, this time with my wife, Karen, and with the plan of using a snout wide-angle macro lens, which is about 18” long and only 5/8” in diameter at the lens end, which meant my face could be farther away from the peepers and I could approach them with stealth and cunning, or at least my version of stealth and cunning, which is usually clumsy and loud.

We were quieter in approaching the pond than on my previous expedition, so the peeps barely interrupted their chorus of desire upon our approach, despite our use of bright flashlights. I showed Karen where I expected to see the frogs based upon my previous night’s work, but that proved to be fruitless, or frogless. In searching around a patch of shoreline where a peeper was loudly calling, we just couldn’t find it on the forest floor. But then I happened to see movement about 18” off the ground, and it was a Spring Peeper calling while clinging to the dry stalk of a wild perennial left over from last fall. Its little vocal sac was expanding with each call–so incredibly exciting to see in real life!

*Spring Peeper male calling using air sac at throat [photo shows how sac expands]*

*Spring Peeper male vocalizing from its perch on an oak leaf*

So I set up my snout lens on a tripod and approached to within about an inch of the calling frog. Meanwhile, Karen used a dive light–a powerful LED flashlight meant for deep dives in the ocean–to light the frog. Somehow, it didn’t mind the light too much and I was able to get hundreds of close-up photographs and videos of this frog and two of its nearby rivals in some of the most exciting hours I’ve ever spent (and, yes, I am truly a boring person). If you ever have the chance to experience the sounds of Spring Peepers while standing among them, don’t miss the opportunity!

MORE DETAILS ABOUT THE LIVES OF SPRING PEEPERS

The Spring Peepers calling in a chorus around a pond are all males, trying desperately to attract mates. Presumably the biggest and loudest male wins the wooing contest, allowing them to mate with the quiet and choosy females. After mating, the female lays eggs in the little pond. Tadpoles are the hoped-for result, and the cycle of life continues.

Spring Peepers are the color of leaf litter on the forest floor: tan or brown or green. Hence they can remain disguised. The second word of their scientific name, Pseudacris crucifer, refers to the large dark cross on the back of each frog. I believe this is part of the camouflage, which breaks up the otherwise uniform color and looks like the veins of a leaf.

*A Spring Peeper looks a bit like a dried leaf on the forest floor; the cross marking on the back and other markings on the legs break up the color, making it look more like fallen leaves*

These are tiny creatures. In fact, were you so inclined, you could mail seven of them in a one ounce first-class mail envelope, though the USPS and peeps wouldn’t be very happy.

*Spring Peepers are tiny in comparison with the loudness of their group*

Peepers go into suspended animation all winter, spending the long, cold months hiding behind a flap of bark on a tree or under a fallen log or under the leaf litter on the ground. Their bodies can survive freezing down to about a 17 degree Fahrenheit body temperature because of glucose and other chemicals in the blood that act as antifreeze.

*To get these pictures, I used a long Laowa Macro Probe lens with a strong dive light*

To make their calls, the males take air into their lungs, then close off their nostrils and mouths. As air is forced from the lungs by muscles, it passes over vocal cords and into the inflated air sac, creating the sound variously described as peeping, chirping, or sleigh bells. The sound is loud enough to prevent sleeping for some people, and is a shimmering shower of sound when it surrounds us next to a pond.

*The slightly bulbous toe pads are designed to stick to wet or dry vegetation to facilitate climbing*

*Just to the right of this calling Peeper is the warty leg of a much larger Eastern American Toad*

A typical male peeper can make up to 13,500 calls per night, though I didn’t do the math and am depending upon scientists for this factoid.

And the most astounding fact of all: a group of Spring Peepers around a pond is referred to an an “army.” A noisy and tiny army, but an army nonetheless.

Video of the calling Spring Peeper right next to the Toad

The photographs below include other inhabitants of this pond: an Eastern American Toad showing off the gold flecks in his eye; Midland Painted Turtles basking on logs; a few more Spring Peepers; and a view of tree reflections on part of the pond. Click on each to make it larger.