It’s slow-moving but time flies. It’s meditative and weirdly exhausting. There’s jeopardy, exhilaration and the awakening of powerful protective feelings. And, on a good night, there’s cold rain trickling down the back of your neck.
Welcome to the world of toading, where endangered amphibians are rescued from lethal roads as they make their annual nocturnal pilgrimage to their mating grounds.
Charlcombe Toad Rescue, on the edge of Bath, is one of the busiest groups, and particularly hectic on a Thursday night of torrential rain.
Amphibians move en masse as soon as the weather turns mild and wet in early spring. As the roads turned into rivers in the hills above Bath, volunteers brandishing high-powered torches raced ahead of slow-moving traffic on Charlcombe Lane, picking up crawling toads, jumping frogs and statuesque newts which are indistinguishable from twigs on the dark tarmac.
“When you scoop up a little newt and put it in your bucket, it’s almost indescribable. I don’t know whether scientists can measure those feelings,” said Mike Collins, a volunteer who leaves his warm house with his wife, Angela, on wet nights in February and March to rescue amphibians in peril.
“I find it very emotional, actually,” said Angela. “And it becomes more emotional as you do it. You see a creature that’s so vulnerable just sat there, and you can see it’s pregnant and bulging with babies. You want them to have a fighting chance of making it to their breeding grounds.”
Thanks to 203 toad and frog rescue groups around the country, thousands of amphibians do. Volunteers helped 115,000 migrating amphibians cross roads safely last year.
Frogs and toads need all the help they can get. Toad populations have fallen by 68% in the UK over the past 30 years. We only know that because the burgeoning rescue groups provide an invaluable dataset, with every amphibian counted, dead or alive.
The first thing the Charlcombe group find when they set out at rush hour is a toad squashed on the road. Last year, 10,000 casualties were reported nationwide.
Before the toad rescue was set up on Charlcombe Lane, more than 60% of the crossing frogs and toads were crushed by cars. Now the fatality rate is down to 3% thanks to the volunteers, who also raise £1,500 each year to pay for the road to be closed for the six-week migration season, although the lane is still busy with cars accessing local houses and the church.
Charlcombe Toad Rescue is so popular that there is a waiting list to join the 50 volunteers helping the coordinator, Helen Hobbs, who has overseen the rescue for 22 seasons. Under her guidance, volunteers have helped 45,000 amphibians cross the road since 2003. On their busiest night, they helped 2,010.
The area is particularly good for amphibians because of Bath’s springs, but the population is dependent upon the preservation of a small, privately owned lake where they breed.
Sheila Gundry, the operations manager for the amphibian and reptile charity Froglife, also volunteers for the rescue. “This population is just about holding up because Helen does such a fantastic job and there are so many volunteers, but you see the data from other rescue groups and the numbers are just going down to zero,” she said.
Traffic on roads is one big factor in national declines but so too are tidy gardens, the over-use of garden chemicals such as slug bait, intensive farming and the loss of ponds and wetlands.
But the rescuers know that for every toad and frog they help cross the road one way, in August and September dozens of tiny froglets and toadlets will make the return crossing as they explore the wide world beyond their ponds.
“We just like saving the wildlife. It’s very satisfying, especially on a wet night like tonight,” said Rory Hanrahan. He does toad patrol with his daughter Sophie, who has been toading since she was nine, 18 years ago.
“It’s quality time with my dad and saving the wildlife and getting some exercise while doing it,” she said. “It’s good for the mind.”
After two hours, soaked to the skin, Mike and Angela Collins have saved 25 frogs, 10 toads and five newts between them, and counted three toads that sadly didn’t make it.
“It’s amazing how tired you feel after two hours walking slowly, with the constant concentration,” said Angela. “You lose all sense of time. It’s quite romantic really. You’re in the dark and there’s no tech, it’s just you and your torch and the creatures.”
