THE TELEGRAPH (London, UK) 18 April 08 Toad to recovery amid the dunes - Jack Watkins hears a chorus of hope from the under-threat natterjack as it awakens from hibernation
I've never found the sound of inland seagulls particularly offensive, but it has to be said that when a few of them get together, these shrieking rooftop drama queens make a hell of a racket, often drowning out more delicate local birdsong.
Some fragile souls, finding their early-morning slumbers disturbed by the pitiful wailing, complain bitterly, forgetting that we've so tamed the British wilds that they are one of the few blasts of nature robust and unapologetic enough to make their presence felt in human-dominated environments.
No one seems to moan about the din of a colony of natterjack toads. The obliteration of most of their habitat has driven them to our sandiest, heathiest margins but, from now until summer, their croaking is one of the few natural sounds to rival the far-carrying cries of seagulls.
The toads hibernate in winter in sandy burrows. They stir when the air begins to warm to prepare for the breeding season. Then the males head for spawning grounds, where they advertise their presence to females by a loud, rasping, after-dusk call.
John Buckley, amphibian conservation officer of the Herpetological Conservation Trust (HCT), says: "You hear one start up, then another, and gradually you get this noisy chorus going on for minutes at a time. Then there will be silence, perhaps because of some disturbance, until it all starts again."
The sound can carry across fields for hundreds of yards, but people who live close to natterjacks are generally well disposed to them. "It's not an irritating sound," says Buckley, "it's more like a purr. And because it's unique to particular areas, people tend to regard it as a bit special."
The toads like warm, shallow ponds or temporary pools, which hold fewer predators or the tadpoles of their bitter rivals, the common toads, and find them mainly on heaths or sand dunes. But the loss of some 80 per cent of potential spawning sites in the last century severely constricted their numbers. They have disappeared almost entirely in southern Britain, and Buckley frequently encounters people who nostalgically recall listening to their now silenced evening chorus.
"With the cessation of activities like coppicing and grazing, a lot of peripheral pools around heaths have disappeared under scrub and trees. Heath is seen as a poor soil and has been subject to afforestation. It has been a similar story with coastal sand dunes. Beach cleansing activities have, in many areas, destroyed embryo dunes and the dynamic nature of the ecosystem."
Since the mid-1990s, the HCT has been the lead partner of a natterjack toad action plan. It manages the last remaining, and secret, native site of the species in southern Britain and oversees attempts at reintroduction elsewhere.
It is closely involved with the landowning and stakeholding bodies of the beautiful Sefton coast of Merseyside, which, with sensitive management from bodies such as Sefton council and the National Trust, has survived as one of the great natterjack strongholds. Noted for its golden sands, it also has the largest (eight square miles) dune system in England and is consequently of international conservation value.
One of the most "stunning successes" in natterjack habitat restoration, according to Buckley, is the Birkdale Green Beach, managed by the Sefton Coast and Countryside Service (SCCS). Coastal ranger Peter Gahan says that preventiing car parking on the beach and creating new shallow pools in the dunes has enabled natterjack spawn string numbers to soar. "The beach is only a small part of the coast, but its open areas of low vegetation make it ideal for the toads," he says.
Winter grazing by sheep was a traditional practice on the dunes and a flock of Herdwicks brought from Cumbria plays a big role in keeping the grass down. "If you go down to the beach at night, you'll see the toads feeding on the beach, as well as on the dunes," says Gahan.
"But in the areas where the grass is up to your ankles, you'll see them walking along the footpaths, rather than the grass. They have short legs and can't cope with dense vegetation."
The natterjacks may be on the up on Green Beach, but Gahan says their numbers will continue to fluctuate: "When the pools are first created in the dunes, they are like little sandy bowls, but over time they'll fill with vegetation or blown sand."
Meanwhile, as common toads breed earlier than natterjacks and produce larger, quicker maturing tadpole rivals, Gaham spends much time removing their spawn to deeper pools where the natterjacks won't breed. Buckley says the natterjack tadpole is competitively inferior: "The longer it takes to grow, the more chance it has of succumbing to predation, or the pool drying out before it metamorphoses into a toadlet."
They are, though, endearing creatures. "Some people find frogs alarming because they say they jump around a lot," says Buckley. "But natterjacks have short legs and don't jump - they just scurry everywhere. They have pretty eyes and when you see them in a burrow, all sizes squeezed in together, they just look like friendly little animals."
Hop to it
The Natterjack toad (Bufo calamita) is distinguished from the common toad (Bufo bufo) by the bold yellow stripe running down the middle of its back. It is restricted to around 60 sites in Britain.
The natterjack is a protected species. It is an offence to kill, injure, capture or disturb them in any way, or damage or destroy their habitat.
Natterjack action plan details can be found by visiting www.herpconstrust.org.uk, or calling 01202 391319.
Toad to recovery amid the dunes