How Volunteers Save Frogs and Salamanders During New England's 'Big Night' Migration

On a Tuesday night in April, beneath a sky mottled with clouds, a slick stretch of road in Cumberland, Maine, erupted in sound. It started with a few high-pitched chirps, like the coos of chicks. Within minutes, dozens, then hundreds more joined a chorus punctuated by low clucks. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon and rain began to splatter the pavement, the sound had risen to a din.

Cars stopped on the shoulder and people spilled onto the road wearing neon vests and waving bright flashlights. They fanned out, raising their voices as they spoke, like guests at a bustling cocktail party. “I got a big one!” called a youngster in a yellow raincoat. She held out her hand for other volunteers who crowded around her. A yellow-spotted salamander about 9 inches long stretched across her gloved palm, its slick tail draped between her fingers.

New England’s Annual Amphibian Migration

Each year in New England, on the first warm, wet night of spring—when the ground has thawed and the temperature is just right—armies of frogs and maelstroms of salamanders emerge from the woods. They hop and undulate through the night, following the same routes their ancestors traveled to the vernal pools of their birth, where they lay their eggs, chirping and clucking all the while.

“They’re calling to the ones that are still in the woods, telling them to come.” — Penny Asherman, Chebeague and Cumberland Land Trust

The Rise of Citizen Science During 'Big Night'

For the past decade, “Big Night” has drawn dozens of people who drop everything at a moment’s notice to help the amphibians migrate safely. But climate change is scrambling that ancient trek. The journey begins less predictably, has grown deadlier, and become more tenuous as the seasonal wetlands they depend on are transformed by climate change. That has prompted volunteers to become citizen scientists, tracking when the animals emerge and how many survive.

Coordinated by Maine Big Night, the effort—which came on April 14 this year—is generating data that is reshaping how communities think about culverts, road maintenance, and other infrastructure.

From Crossing Guards to Data Collectors

In the past, these amphibian protectors were little more than crossing guards, shepherding the tiny creatures to safety. But a nonprofit formed in 2018, Big Night Maine, has asked them to meticulously document what happens along these migration paths. This year, more than 1,200 observers at 650 migration sites statewide submitted observations.

Tim Kaijala has been a regular for seven years along with his children, Theo, 10, and Kai, 8. “The data side is pretty cool,” he said. “When we first came, it was just bringing frogs and salamanders over, but the last couple years it’s been more about counting and keeping track.”

As he spoke, Theo and Kai peered into a pool, watching a wood frog they’d helped across the road kick through the clear water. “Remember that one time, Theo,” Kai said, looking at her brother. “Oh yeah,” Theo replied.