Tadpoles

There are so many tadpoles in the pond that the surface of the diminishing water writhes with them. There are not usually so many survivors as the spawn is often frozen to death in February or March. This year, the skies have been so clear so long, that although at night there is a ground frost, in the day the temperature rises to 16 or 17 degrees and so, like the lake, the water must be holding this warmth.

After work I lay on the small dipping platform and looked into the sunlit water. Each tadpole is about 2 cm long, nose to tail and none of them are starting to develop legs yet. This means they are still herbivorous, eating algae and soft leaf matter. One I was watching managed to pull a small puff of feather down from the surface and swam around munching on this improvised moustache. However, peace, harmony and vegetarianism will not last long, because as soon as those legs start to pop out they need more protein and transform into carnivores. Every Frog Prince has a dark history of fratricide and cannibalism.

For the moment though the tiny wriggling bodies are undergoing a much prettier transformation, changing from dark muddy brown to being flecked with gold. This is normal, but I also saw quite a good proportion had a distinctly russet glow to them and some nearly raw-meat red. It appears that this is not sunburn, but may be caused by over-predation. As this is not yet the case I would think that the stress of such overcrowded conditions might have a similar result.
It was very restful lying there looking at the kaleidoscope of wiggles, bubbles and colours in the warmth but luckily, before I dozed or fell off, cramp in one arm reminded me I had planned to walk up to Whinlatter Top.

Light, wind , the view and a lark singing its heart out under the evening sun and the rising moon gave more than added value at the end of a busy day.