An Unnatural Post: Cane Toads
I despise cane toads.
The biologist in me weeps at the deeply visceral hatred I have for them. To me, they seem greedy, brutish nasty things that bring only death wherever they go. I know rationally that they are only doing what they've evolved to do, and damn well at that. They have adapted magnificently to the environment they have been released into, thriving to the extent that the natives can't compete. They are very well evolved indeed. In other beasties, say, sharks, I admire this. In cane toads it seems opportunistic and mean.
After calypso72's post on the whopper of a toad found in Darwin and cottonmanifesto's delight at my frog post I figured it was time to put that hatred aside and document some of the bastards.
I live in Queensland, the starting point of the cane toad's range. We Queenslanders' have an odd relationship with the toad, having unofficially adopted the ugly thing as a state mascot yet still regarding toad killing as a fine way to spend a hot summer night (link's a bit harsh so be warned). Even my very tame mother would swerve a little on the road to hit one, figuring a station-wagon induced death to be pretty quick and painless. Hunting toads is supposed to be in the blood. Idiot that I am, however, I decide to go toad hunting on a cold, dry night with high winds. Very clever, no? Toads are usually easiest to spot at dusk, not at 9:30 which is when I was walking home from work, camera in hand.
It's a testament to their stubbornness that I still managed to find a whopper sitting in a driveway:
It was about the size of a large mango, and regarded me suspiciously, even though they freak me out and I wasn't getting any closer than a few metres. They are gross.
Blurry though this shot is, it does give you a solid look at his paratoid gland, or as I like to think of them, the poison glands:
See? Poison in handy, easy-to-carry neck sacs. Each gland was about 3-5cm long, bulgy ugly knobs of death.
I wasn't keen to get any closer, and by this point the people who lived in the house whose driveway in which I'd found the toad were beginning to get a bit suspicious of the squealing goth taking photos of their front yard. So I legged it.
I can't promise I'll try and take any more pictures.
For a better idea of where toads lie in the Aussie mind, go have a look at some of the clips from Cane Toad: An Unnatural History. The cover of this film still makes me ill to this day. Children should not be encouraged to cuddle cane toads, in my opinion. It's not all doom and gloom for haters of toads. As gemfyre mentioned, some snake species are evolving toad-excluding heads to prevent accidental death, and there are numerous Toadbusting projects throughout Australia trying to prevent the extension of their range, not to mention other tactics ranging from toad-specific microbial attacks to modified viruses. My favourite idea emains the beer-for-toad exchange program, where you swap a toad for a coldie. Given the Aussie appetite for beer, we may be onto something.
The biologist in me weeps at the deeply visceral hatred I have for them. To me, they seem greedy, brutish nasty things that bring only death wherever they go. I know rationally that they are only doing what they've evolved to do, and damn well at that. They have adapted magnificently to the environment they have been released into, thriving to the extent that the natives can't compete. They are very well evolved indeed. In other beasties, say, sharks, I admire this. In cane toads it seems opportunistic and mean.
After calypso72's post on the whopper of a toad found in Darwin and cottonmanifesto's delight at my frog post I figured it was time to put that hatred aside and document some of the bastards.
I live in Queensland, the starting point of the cane toad's range. We Queenslanders' have an odd relationship with the toad, having unofficially adopted the ugly thing as a state mascot yet still regarding toad killing as a fine way to spend a hot summer night (link's a bit harsh so be warned). Even my very tame mother would swerve a little on the road to hit one, figuring a station-wagon induced death to be pretty quick and painless. Hunting toads is supposed to be in the blood. Idiot that I am, however, I decide to go toad hunting on a cold, dry night with high winds. Very clever, no? Toads are usually easiest to spot at dusk, not at 9:30 which is when I was walking home from work, camera in hand.
It's a testament to their stubbornness that I still managed to find a whopper sitting in a driveway:
It was about the size of a large mango, and regarded me suspiciously, even though they freak me out and I wasn't getting any closer than a few metres. They are gross.
Blurry though this shot is, it does give you a solid look at his paratoid gland, or as I like to think of them, the poison glands:
See? Poison in handy, easy-to-carry neck sacs. Each gland was about 3-5cm long, bulgy ugly knobs of death.
I wasn't keen to get any closer, and by this point the people who lived in the house whose driveway in which I'd found the toad were beginning to get a bit suspicious of the squealing goth taking photos of their front yard. So I legged it.
I can't promise I'll try and take any more pictures.
For a better idea of where toads lie in the Aussie mind, go have a look at some of the clips from Cane Toad: An Unnatural History. The cover of this film still makes me ill to this day. Children should not be encouraged to cuddle cane toads, in my opinion. It's not all doom and gloom for haters of toads. As gemfyre mentioned, some snake species are evolving toad-excluding heads to prevent accidental death, and there are numerous Toadbusting projects throughout Australia trying to prevent the extension of their range, not to mention other tactics ranging from toad-specific microbial attacks to modified viruses. My favourite idea emains the beer-for-toad exchange program, where you swap a toad for a coldie. Given the Aussie appetite for beer, we may be onto something.