Fussy frogs and wet wetlands

Floodplain wetlands in semi-arid and arid regions are important habitats for a variety of wildlife, including frogs. Managing these important habitats requires that we know how wildlife respond to their patterns of natural flows, but surprisingly we don’t have a good understanding of this relationship for many species. While it makes sense that frogs would like inundated wetlands, we don’t actually know if this is the case in many systems, so I set out to determine which species were fond of good flow conditions and which weren’t. I found that while the Macquarie Marshes, a large floodplain wetland with huge conservation significance in inland NSW, supported a diverse range of frogs, not all species responded to flooding in the same way. Knowing this helps us understand which species are more likely to benefit from managed water flows, and which aren’t.

If you’ve been around frogs for a while, then you’ll know that if it has rained a lot, you’ll see and hear a whole different set of frog species than if it hasn’t. Also if it is still 26⁰C at midnight rather than 12⁰C, again the frogs that you see and hear will be quite different. Figuring out which species you are likely to see in what conditions is important, particularly when you want to determine how to conserve them; just because you didn’t see them, it doesn’t mean they weren’t there, which is especially true for burrowing frogs!

In order to determine how we might be able to manage frog populations by releasing upstream waters (in dams) to replicate natural flows (‘environmental flows’), I needed first to understand how natural floods affect different frog species living in large complex floodplain wetland systems. I wanted to make sure that any managed flows would actually benefit (or not) the frogs that live there. I also needed to know how things like temperature or rainfall or water depth affected how likely I was to see different species.

To do this, I (and my crew of amazing field assistants) spent a lot of afternoons and evenings sloshing through different parts of wetlands and around waterholes in the Macquarie Marshes in NSW. We did this during a large natural flood, and recorded data on weather, vegetation and water as well as all the frogs we came across.

Sloshing around the Southern Lagoons

During four months of surveys at 30 sites in the Macquarie Marshes, we identified 15 frog species, including barking marsh frogs (Limnodynastes fletcheri), wrinkled toadlets (Uperoleia rugosa), desert tree frogs (Litoria rubella) and Sudell’s burrowing frog (Neobatrachus sudellae). On average, we counted nearly 40 individual frogs per site, though sometimes we saw none and once four of us counted nearly 250 in 20 minutes!

Putting all that together, I found that as expected, not all frog species did the same thing at the same time or even liked hanging out in the same places during a flood. However, frogs that had similar features generally shared similar responses. Species that move around on the ground but can’t burrow, such as spotted marsh frogs (Limnodynastes tasmaniensis), were seen in most weather and site conditions, and were more abundant at temporarily flooded wetlands with some aquatic vegetation. Conversely, tree frogs, such as the green tree frog (Litoria caerulea) liked to be around wooded wetlands but needed it to warmer and rainier before they’d be out and about.

Spotted marsh frogs enjoying the wet conditions. Photo: Dave Herasimtschuk.
Green tree frogs doing as they do. Photo: Dave Herasimtschuk.

The remaining species, which had special adaptations allowing them to burrow into the soil, such as the crucifix frog (Notaden bennettii), were rather particular. They were more likely to pop up after some rain the day or night before and they weren’t very keen on the wetlands, preferring ephemeral, rain-fed waterholes.

After unlocking the secret preferences of frogs in a large floodplain wetland during a natural flood, we can now start to get more precise about how environmental water supports frogs. While burrowing frogs might not appreciate flood waters without associated rainfall, we know that ground frogs like the spotted marsh frog do. This means that these frogs are likely to directly respond to and benefit from water releases. And if you’ve got happy frogs, you’ve got a well-functioning wetland!

Acknowledgements:
Thanks to my co-authors, Richard Kingsford (University of New South Wales), Trent Penman (University of Wollongong) and Jodi Rowley (Australian Museum Research Institute). I’d also like to thank landholders and Reserve rangers for permission to access the Macquarie Marshes during this study. Funding and support for the surveys were provided by the NSW Office of Environment and Heritage, the NSW Frog and Tadpole Society, and the Foundation for National Parks and Wildlife Service. For their assistance in the field, I particularly thank Carly Humphries, Jonathon Windsor, Ashley Soltysiak, Sarah Meredith, David Herasimtschuk, Angela Knerl, Diana Grasso, and Bill Koutsamanis.

For the nitty-gritty details, see:
Ocock, J.F., Kingsford, R.T., Penman, T.D. & Rowley, J.J.L. (2016). Amphibian abundance and detection trends during a large flood in a semi-arid floodplain wetland. Herpetological Conservation and Biology 11, 408-425.


What I saw on my fieldwork. Part 1: shield shrimp!

Often, the weird and wonderful things are the things we see least often. And often the reasons we see them so rarely, are what makes them so weird and wonderful. Take the crazy freshwater crustacean called the shield shrimp in Australia (scientific name Triops australiensis). I’ve been wandering around floodplain wetlands and creeks for a few years now, peering into the water and sweeping nets around looking for tadpoles, and until the last month, I’d only see one of these things.

Snow-plough shield with eyes on top.
Snow-plough shield with eyes on top.
Lotsa legs.
Lotsa legs.

They are weird because they have three eyes – yes really (the middle one tells light from dark). And because they haven’t changed since the early dinosaurs walked the earth. And because it looks like they attached a flattened snow-plough over their head and body, then discovered they couldn’t see, so stuck the eyes on the outside.

And they are wonderful because the eggs can survive the harshest cold and the driest heat and being blown around in the wind for YEARS, before hatching out and finding themselves in temporary pools near the top of Uluru and rocky outcrops at Arapiles, or sandy desert swales and clay-pans, or floodplain creeks in the Murray Darling Basin. Which is where I saw them in September. At a couple of places, I got more shield shrimp in the tadpole nets than tadpoles. Such ungainly looking things, not particularly hydrodynamic-ly designed for an aquatic animal. And at night, I watched them scoot and tumble about, yes definitely not very hydrodynamic.

Shield shrimp swimming around at night (I count five…)

A note on pilgrimages (but mostly about the Lake Eyre Basin).

When I first saw Pelobates fuscus, I was much more excited than I thought I’d be. Yes, this was a delightful if slightly dull-coloured round blob of a European burrowing frog (the ‘common spadefoot’), spotted while traipsing through a wetland in Hungary. But it was more than just a new species I could tick off my global amphibian checklist. This was a ‘pilgrimage’ species. Pelobates fuscus was the subject of several scientific articles I read early in my PhD that were important for learning theories and shaping my understanding of amphibians and floodplain wetlands. I’d read about it, studied it, and now I was looking at it!

My pilgrimage species
My pilgrimage species

I recently got to tick off another item on my pilgrimage list – this time the Lake Eyre Basin (LEB). The LEB looms large in the Australian psyche, but especially so if you are a freshwater junkie like myself, fascinated by how water can move across such a massive, flat, arid landscape and the life it brings with it.

A study in the late 1990s characterised 52 rivers worldwide and found the Cooper Creek and the Diamantina Creek, both in the LEB, to be the most variable for when the water flows, how much comes and how long you have to wait in between flows (i.e. flow timing. magnitude and frequency). They extended the Flood Pulse Concept (Junk 1989), which had only been applied to rivers with predictable regular flows, to include this complexity and so recognise that lots of biological processes, such as waterbird movement and breeding, fish spawning, rely on this natural variability. Again, these were paradigms and theories that made me stop and think, and became central how I understood my own research.

Now, the LEB is not exactly the low-hanging fruit of pilgrimage sites. It’s rather large (one-sixth of Australia’s landmass, or France, Spain and Portugal put together) so what counts as ‘being there’? Could I tick it off my list by just getting my foot over the line of the Basin catchment, or do I need to see Lake? What about putting a toe in the water? Also, it’s a long way away from anything. The sealed roads run out well before you get there. It’s not something you drive past on your way elsewhere, it has to be the destination. And a long weekend from Sydney is unlikely to cut it. Finally, it’s often not there. Well the water isn’t anyway. Like I said it is variable. Subject to continental-sized weather processes as well as high rates of evaporation, on average the lake only fills once in ten years.

Route of our flight from Broken Hill to Birdsville, over Lake Eyre and back again.
Route of our flight from Broken Hill to Birdsville, over Lake Eyre and back again.
Us with our wings about to leave Birdsville.
Us with our wings about to leave Birdsville.

Fortunately, the weather-gods smiled on my pilgrimage to the LEB. In mid-May 2016, my parents and I drove to Broken Hill, and from there took a chartered scenic flight which followed the Cooper Creek north and  stopped at the Birdsville Hotel overnight. The next day we followed the Diamantina Creek and Warburton Channel down stream before and flying across Lake Eyre to William Creek. Due to the rain across the region three days earlier and recent flows down from Queensland, there was water everywhere and the lake was about 60-70% full. A spectacular sight. I can’t adequately describe the experience of following those creeks and flying over the Lake. Really I can’t. The photos don’t do it justice. A worthy pilgrimage site, I was amazed and humbled.

Footnote: huge thanks to Drew from Silver City Air Charter for flying us around and planning the whole trip, highly recommend!

A watery-looking Outback
A watery-looking Outback
Diamantina Creek
Diamantina Creek
Nearly at the Lake water!
Nearly at the Lake water!
Lake Eyre! So much water, so much lake!
Water in Lake Eyre, so much water!
South end of Lake Eyre.
Edge of the Lake.