ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER (Santa Ana, California) 01 May 07 You want fresh frog legs? Try going mano-a-froggo in a Louisiana bayou (Dean Fosdick)
Morgan City, La. (AP): Boating deep into a bayou on a sultry summer night might not be everyone's idea of a good time, but then there's no accounting for taste.
Luke Manfre, a broker from this southern Louisiana town, and Drake Stansbury, president of a construction company here, have developed a powerful taste for frog legs. And bullfrogs don't grow much larger than those squatting along the shoreline.
The amphibians' bellies and throats gleam a revealing white. Their eyes shine like diamonds with every sweep of the lights. Those paired opals glowing from the water, however, are the unblinking eyes of alligators, and the opals far outnumber the diamonds on this nocturnal frogging trip.
"The wider the separation between the eyes, the larger the gator," Manfre says from the bow of the modified jonboat, where he sits quietly with a long-handled net.
The alligators float motionless. Only their arching eyebrows, snouts and parts of their knobby backs are visible.
Frogs, on the other hand, are most active at night when the weather is humid and warm. With darkness comes a degree of safety. They never range far from still or slow-moving waters, where they can hunt and hide.
The carnivores in this privately owned and seldom-fished bayou represent several links in the predatory food chain: There's the catcher team in the boat, seeking an all-but-forgotten regional delicacy; the alligators, capable of making short work of most any critter careless enough to wade into their swamp; and the voracious bullfrogs, known to swallow anything from dragonflies to snakes.
North American bullfrogs are the largest frogs on the continent, capable of growing a foot long and a pound and a half in weight. Much of that mass is in their muscular hind legs, which enable them to leap up to 6 feet. Their smooth, leathery skin varies from green to mottled brown. They croak long and loud while defending their territory or trying to attract mates, a deep-throated sound that's been described as "jug-o-rum, jug-o-rum."
"Bullfrogs occur now in every state in the U.S. and some Canadian provinces," says Jeff Boundy, lead herpetologist for the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries, in Baton Rouge.
Although some frogs species are disappearing, the American bullfrog isn't, according to Jim Low, a spokesman for the Missouri Department of Conservation, in Jefferson City.
"If anything, the bullfrog is rather invasive," he says. "It's big, it's a carnivore and has been able to adapt in a lot of areas where it has been introduced. Ironically, that's come at the expense of many other frogs that it eats."
In Louisiana, a license is required for anyone who plans to catch bullfrogs and sell the meat. Those taking frogs with fishing licenses must throw back any smaller than 5 inches. "You wouldn't want to catch anything smaller than that anyway, if you plan on eating them," Boundy says.
Frogging can be done in various ways. There's "gigging," or stabbing with a barbed spear. Then you have netting, clubbing, shooting, fishing, snaring or simply grabbing the frog bare-handed and depositing it in a cloth bag for the trip to the kitchen.
Manfre and Stansbury favor netting. Their hunt is made more challenging by the overgrown shore banks, which provide plenty of cover for the fidgety frogs.
Manfre does the catching while Stansbury is the wheelman. After they spot a frog, it's Stansbury's job to maneuver the shallow draft boat near shore, getting Manfre in range of the target. Both men wear miner's helmets with powerful, battery-operated lamps. "As long as you keep the light in their eyes, fine," Stansbury says. "If the light moves off them, they're gone."
They motor deeper into the bayou, playing their lights slowly through the undergrowth, up old pipeline channels and around snags and deadfalls. The clutter often requires Manfre to step ashore to position his net.
The most memorable stalk comes about three hours into the float when they spot a large bullfrog staring into the lights from under some rotting logs. Just as Manfre makes his move, a 5-foot alligator lunges, brushing against his leg and soaking one side of the boat. Neither one scores. The bullfrog leaps into the darkness. The alligator wheels and disappears beneath the water. The froggers emerge unscathed, with a reptile-enriched story to tell.
Manfre eventually nets 14 keeper-size frogs in three dozen attempts. Skinned and quartered, that's enough to make a memorable entrée for four adults.
"The back legs are the best known portions, but down here, we eat it all," he says.
Frogging goes back generations, from Ontario to Florida.
Willie Lyles, a retired conservation officer from Liberty, Mo., got his start holding a flashlight for his father, who liked to go frogging around the edge of farm ponds.
"It didn't get any simpler or easier than that," Lyles says. "But the practice appears to be fast dying out. When I was a young agent in southern Missouri, it was a really big deal. I arrested a guy one night who had 96 frogs. The limit then was eight, but he was getting $10 a leg so I could understand his motivation.
"People don't normally go out for it anymore. There are a lot of places out there where they don't even know about it."
Along with some quality time in the outdoors, frogging can result in great table fare, he says.
"My kids were real little when they were eating frog legs, and they always would ask if they could have more chicken. It does have a real sweet chicken flavor to it. My favorite is grilled frogs served with rice and green peppers."
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