Chiricahua leopard frogs get new homes, but first it has to rain

Soon, it will be full of water and frogs.

Biebighauser is a wetland engineer. He travels around the country turning neglected patches of land into lush habitat for imperiled species where they need it most. It’s a feat he’s accomplished over 2,900 times.

At an outpost on state-owned land in the eastern mountain range, a rotating cast of volunteers lent their hands and help in service of the mission, a collaboration between the Arizona Game and Fish Department and the Amphibian and Reptile Conservancy, to create wetlands for a creature that many people have never seen: Chiricahua leopard frogs.

Over two weeks, volunteers moved dirt, rock, and foliage under an unforgiving sun to create six ecosystems, like little resplendent worlds, where the frogs will take shelter from the threats that jeopardize their species. The frogs will also share their new wetlands with other fauna, like bighorn sheep, deer and birds, all of which need access to water resources in an increasingly arid Southwest where drought, groundwater depletion and wildfire are transforming the landscape.

The project depends on the promise of summer storms.

“Here in Arizona, what do you call a heavy rain?” Biebighauser asked, pulling out a pocket-sized notepad. He posited a few southern colloquialisms. “How about a frog strangler? A toad floater? Gully washer?”

A frog strangler is just what the new wetlands need to come to life. The impending monsoon will turn the empty craters into deep pools that will last 1,000 years, by Biebighauser’s guarantee, providing watery sanctuary for a froggy future.

A frog with a cult following

Dark green and freckled, Chiricahua leopard frogs once hopped and ribbited between riparian oases and wetlands across the Southwest. Like other frog species, they need permanent standing water to lay their eggs.

But many of the marshy places they once lived have disappeared. In 2002, they were listed as threatened under the Endangered Species Act, and they are now one of 800 animals the state wildlife agency manages.

“When there was a lot of rain here, this thing was full of water,” Biebighauser said, gesturing toward the 13-foot hole in the earth.

Arizona doesn’t get as much rain as it used to. The state is three decades into a relentless drought, and the monsoon has become a memory of what it was — a “nonsoon.” Agriculture has also changed the region, draining underground water reserves and causing ephemeral streams to run dry.

The frogs face other threats, too — predation by invasive bullfrogs, a deadly fungal disease and wildfire.

Now, there are fewer than 80 spots where they still live in the wild.

One of those places is in the White Mountains, where Chiricahua frogs hop around a pond on an Arizona Game and Fish Department wildlife refuge. But that pond is drying up, Biebighauser said.

“This is part of recovery unit six,” said Becca Cozad, a Southwest program coordinator for the Amphibian and Reptile Conservancy, which partners with states around the country to develop conservation plans. Chiricahua leopard frogs have eight different recovery units across their range, primarily in Arizona and New Mexico. Restoring permanent water resources to the area will help boost their populations.

The frogs may not be the charismatic megafauna that are the face of conservation everywhere, she said, but they have an intrinsic value and a place in the natural world. Besides, they also have a cult following. Over 35 volunteers showed up to work on the project.

Repairing a landscape

 There are a few ways to build a pond or a wetland, according to Biebighauser, who's been studying them for 48 years.

In some parts of the country, he uses heavy equipment to dig into the dirt and expose groundwater, like a huge well. Then, he uses clay as a barrier to keep the water from seeping back into the earth.

“Here, we couldn’t find clay and we couldn't find groundwater,” he said. It called for a different approach.

After sculpting out sections of earth, volunteers like Christine Jenkins, who wore a Chiricahua leopard frog baseball hat, rolled a layer of thick plastic lining sandwiched between felt-like fabric across the length of the hole. Then, they piled on 12 inches of rock and soil.

With so much reinforcement, a herd of elk could run through the future wetland without destroying it, Biebighauser said. That's where his 1,000-year warranty comes from. His wetlands are meant to last.

Each site looked a little Martian — barren pits staged with rocks that would one day be underwater. Cozad and Jenkins repurposed uprooted junipers, interior designing for the pond's future inhabitants. The six habitats are all within what Cozad calls “dispersal distance,” meaning that the frogs can hopscotch their way around each of the sites.

“ We don't want frogs to have to make a very long journey over land to try to find newer, better habitat if their own pond is drying up,” she said. This way, they have options.

The wetlands will also serve other animals: elk, pronghorn and all sorts of birds, including threatened yellow-billed cuckoos.

“Every single animal on Earth needs water,” Biebighauser said. Especially in the desert, where it’s getting harder to come by.

 ”The Chiricahua frog is a good proxy for us,” said José Garrido, the national program director for ARC, as he drove between the six sites, stirring up clouds of dust. “Amphibians are really tied to these small areas and to watershed health.”

The organization’s goal isn’t site-specific. It aims to connect separate projects together as part of larger-scale landscape recovery, he said, kind of like the Japanese art of kintsugi.

“The landscape is never going to look the way it once did,” Garrido said, “but we can put the remaining pieces back together and make something that works.”

Since 2007, the Arizona Game and Fish Department has rehabilitated habitat at 48 sites throughout the Chiricahua leopard frogs' range.

As the sun slid west on a recent afternoon, the volunteers shuffled to their cars, dust-covered and sweating sunscreen. Some would head to a nearby campsite to share dinner, beer and herpetological humor.

They would return the next morning, ready to carry on.

 ”Noah lived to be 640,” Biebighauser said of the biblical figure. “I have a lot of wetlands to build before I die.”

This summer, with any luck, rain will trickle down the nearby hills into the valley, to the streams and inlets that feed the wetlands. One will be connected to a well that will supply year-round water. The others will fill up over time. Once full, the ponds’ shallow edges will provide a place for egg-laying, their deep reaches for staying cool on hot days. Leopard frogs will be relocated from other sites to buoy the population. Neighboring frogs will move in on their own — lured by the promise of prime real estate.

By next year, the wetlands could rumble with their distinct snoring croaks.