It’s toad’s a life

At Mill Dam, near Dunkeld, Keith witnesses some toads wrapped in a frenzy, which may just indicate the arrival of spring...

It’s tough being a toad at this time of year, or to be more accurate, it is especially tough for female toads as the males cling on to them like tenacious limpets in the sheer desperation of mating.

Last week, at Mill Dam near Dunkeld, I witnessed such a sexual frenzy for myself, with writhing balls of toads squirming in the water by the bankside. One female I found on the nearby grass had a male gripped firmly to her back and another clinging to her rear legs. The poor female could hardly move.

To make matters worse, toads are emaciated and in poor condition in early spring because they have just emerged from hibernation. Things are especially bad this year because the winter has maintained its grip for longer than usual and many of the toads I came across were like little warty bundles of skin and bone.

Unsurprisingly, some toads will perish from the sheer energy of the mating process, but with their long strings of fertilised spawn safely laid, at least the next generation is on the way. Job done.

By the time you read this, the mating will be over, and the toads will be beginning to disperse far and wide across the hills, moors and woods to live a largely terrestrial life. I am constantly amazed at how far they can wander, perhaps several miles from their ancestral breeding ponds.

One of the pleasures of spring is the dawn chorus and it is interesting, when I’m lying in bed early in the morning, to hear the first birds tuning up. In many ways, it should really be called the predawn chorus because the most vocal part of the singing is usually about halfan-hour before light fully breaks.

Once it does so, the passion and intensity of the singing tends to diminish.

Robins, blackbirds and song thrushes are the first to get the singing under way and when they reach their peak, the fluidity and range of song flowing across the dark morning air is quite astonishing.

Of course, there are other songsters in the mix as well. One of my favourites is the blackcap, which is most appropriately dubbed the ‘northern nightingale’. The rich fluty notes of the song and the suddenness of its delivery are a joy to behold.

Wild flowers, too, are now emerging all over the place. Once-bare banks are now bedazzled with the white starshaped flowers of wood anemones and yellow-spangled lesser celandines. For the first time ever last week, I came upon the exquisite and delicate flowers of Yellow Star-of-Bethlehem in Strathdevon.

And there is so much else to look forward to. I became a bit obsessed with blaeberry bumblebees last year, with their wonderful orange-furred rearends, and spent many hours searching for them by the flowering verges of hill tracks in the Ochils. It’s a passion that has not diminished and over the next few weeks I will once more be enthusiastically seeking them out.

Picture: Getty Images. The exertions of mating can prove costly for toads.