Busy Mating Season for Island Kestrels

How exciting to see so many American Kestrel couples courting and mating this spring.

It wasn’t like I was creeping around in the woods to spy on them. Starting in February, I started seeing them along the road pairing up on power lines and the tops of dead trees.

Kestrels ordinarily like to hunt from high perches. With their sharp eyesight they can easily spot unsuspecting prey from a long distance. But during mating season the kestrel couples were often sitting close and looking at each other. 
Since I don’t often get to see breeding behavior in birds, I was eager to spend time quietly watching what they were up to. Although a few of my friends began to suspect I was becoming an avian voyeur, others understood my scientific interest and invited me to come by and observe pairs of kestrels hanging out near their houses.

American Kestrels are small falcons. The ones in the Virgin Islands are year-round residents, but these are common western hemisphere birds that nest in varied habitats from Alaska down through South America.  

They are usually solitary except during mating season. Becoming a couple is the first step in their breeding process. Males try to impress would-be mates by doing fast-paced climbs and dives, and offering gifts of food. In the Virgin Islands, the gifts are usually lizards, and occasionally a mouse.

The easiest way to tell the difference between the sexes is that males have brown backs and blue wings and a solid dark band across the bottom of their tails. The females have brown backs and wings, and cross-hatching on their tails. They both have dark marks on their white chests, but there are more marks on the females, and more of the marks are shaped like streaks rather than spots. Even knowing this, though, it is still sometimes hard to tell the difference when you see the birds from a distance or in the air.  

I watched one pair off and on from February through April as they mated enthusiastically near a tree with a hole in it in a friend’s yard. They had picked out this tree as an appropriate place for their nest, and stayed close to it. Kestrels are cavity nesters, so you won’t find them making structures out of sticks. It also means you can’t see anything that’s going on inside the nest.

Both the male and female occasionally went in and out of the hole, and then one day in late February it looked to me like the female might be laying an egg. She perched on the edge of the hole, made motions like she might be pressing something out, then turned around to look inside to check on the result. What else would she be doing?

I starting counting how many days it would take for an egg to hatch (about a month) and once hatched, how long before the fledglings would come out (another month).

Despite the coronavirus quarantine, I checked back regularly and also got reports from my friend. The kestrels mated several times a day, and both ate lots of lizards, many of which suffered gruesome deaths. 

We waited eagerly for signs of babies, but by the time they should have hatched, it was very quiet by the tree hole. If there were any babies in there, the parents would need to be going in and out feeding them. Instead they had stopped even going near the tree, though they did continue to mate pretty often for a while.

Maybe there were never any eggs, or maybe something got to them. I even wondered if the hole was too deep, really more of a crack, and the eggs fell way down inside. Eventually, I sadly gave up hope. By May, those kestrels had drifted off. 

Meanwhile, another friend close by said he was seeing a lot of kestrel activity at a tree in his yard. A second chance! Before long, I had set up a viewing site in a cramped spot underneath his house. 

Soon I was delighted to see a mother kestrel show up with a lizard, which she took inside a large hole in the tree. After she disappeared, I thought I heard faint peeping sounds, but couldn’t be sure the noise wasn’t coming from some little birds I saw at the top of the tree.

If there were already babies inside the tree getting fed, I figured they would be ready to come out within a few weeks. I didn’t want to miss that. Fortunately my neighbor was happy to have me as a frequent visitor, even (or maybe especially) if I stayed under the house. Often he greeted me encouragingly by saying that one of the parents had just been there to bring a lizard, after which I waited in vain for some new activity. 

When I did actually see one of the parents come by, I was now sure I heard a chorus of peeps from inside.  

Finally, one afternoon in the middle of May I was rewarded by the sudden appearance of a little head peeking out of the hole. I was so excited I jumped up and knocked my head on a floor beam.

Soon both parents were coming by to feed the nestlings, and they didn’t bother to go inside and divvy up the lizard. They just dropped it into the hole and quickly flew off, while the peeping cries got louder and harsher.

After about two weeks, I saw one of the young kestrels climb out of the hole, grip the edge tightly, and then tentatively flap his wings before tumbling back down inside.

As they got bigger and braver, I could see that there were three of them in there. By the end of the May, the young kestrels were ready to move out. First a male one climbed out of the hole, crept up the tree trunk, and sat on a stumpy branch. He stayed there for quite a while flapping and squawking, then seemed to start looking for bugs on the branch. Soon he moved further up in the tree, and the other two emerged. By the time I left they were high up and hidden in the tree.

A few days later they had all abandoned the nest hole, but I still could hear them crying out nearby. Parents usually help feed their fledglings for about three weeks.

The parents also still need to protect their babies. Out of the nest, but not yet experienced at flying, the fledglings could be easy prey for the neighborhood red-tailed hawk. Several times I heard a hubbub overhead and saw one of the kestrels loudly flying at the hawk, trying to force the larger bird to move on.

It seems like the family is still around because I hear more kestrel calls than usual, even when the hawk isn’t here, and sometimes see them flying overhead. I imagine the young ones are learning to catch their own lizards. I was grateful to be able to spend so much time with them, and hope they will come back to this area again next year.   

Encouraging Signs of Life Returning

Wattapama flower

 In the Virgin Islands, the pandemic time-out period coincided with a hot, dry spring – hardly any rain for months. The thermometer inside my jeep got up to 115 degrees as it sat closed up under the relentless sun.

Many of the native trees are accustomed to seasonal drought, and have shed their leaves. Others are just drooping. Like us, they reduced their activity levels, waiting for more propitious times.  

In good years, heavy spring rains lift our spirits by bringing out a burst of colorful flowers on the trees, up in the hills and along the roadsides.  

Wattapama flowers (Poitea florida) are local favorites. Wattapamas are thin, wispy trees that are practically invisible for most of the year, especially after they drop their small leaves. But after a soaking rainstorm breaks a dry spell they seem to magically emerge, their wand-like branches covered all over with delicate lavender flowers.

Unfortunately, this spring the rain has been sparse, and so have the Wattapama blossoms. We have had a few nighttime showers, though, which brought some of these trees to life – a very welcome sight. The lovely blossoms don’t last long though. After a few days, the petals drop to the ground, creating small drifts like purple snow.

Wattapama branches

Another wispy tree, the Caribbean Dogwood (Piscidia carthagenensis) has clusters of tiny pink flowers. They can be seen high up on the tree’s thin branches after the leaves fall off in the dry season.

Despite its frailness, this tree has a dangerous reputation, which is reflected in its common name ‘fish poison’. The Caribs reportedly threw the bark of the roots and powdered leaves into the water to help them catch fish. It apparently stunned the fish so they floated to the surface, though it didn’t actually kill them. More recently, extracts from this and related trees in have been used in herbal remedies as antidepressants and pain relievers.

Caribbean Dogwood

Lignum Vitae (Guaiacum officinale) is a slow-growing evergreen tree that doesn’t seem to mind the dryness or the heat. And it too has medicinal properties. It was called ‘Tree of Life’ in the early 1500s by Europeans desperate for potential remedies after the emergence of syphilis as a major epidemic. Columbus is thought to have learned about the medicinal qualities of this resinous wood in the Caribbean and brought some back with him. It was a more valuable prize than gold for those seeking relief from the suffering and decline brought on by the disease. However, some Europeans also blamed Columbus and his men for introducing the syphilis in the first place.  

Lignum Vitae
Flamboyant Trees (Delonix regia) really live up to their flashy name at this time of year. They are also called Flame Trees or Royal Poinciana, and are originally from Madagascar. They have been planted throughout the Caribbean, mainly because of their brilliant orange flowers, though they do also have anti-bacterial uses. The Flamboyants have been bare of leaves for a while, but when their crowns are in full flower, they can light up whole neighborhoods.

These brightly flowering trees have helped to raise my mood during the long, dry days of waiting for things to open up again, even without sampling their bark or leaves.

They are also models of patience and resilience in the ways they adjust to varying circumstances – reminding us that we must adapt too, in order to survive and thrive through diseases and dry periods, withdrawal and revival.

Getting To Know Your Virgin Islands Lizards

Crested Anole lizard
During the Virgin Islands ‘safer at home’ phase, I have found myself engaging more frequently with my non-human housemates - especially the lizards.

Most days I’ll be working at a table on our screened ground-level porch. The screen door is loose along the bottom, which has allowed a small lizard to come inside and share my work space. It is a Crested Anole (Anolis cristatellus), which has a permanent ridge along its back and tail. (Smaller crested anoles with light stripes on their back are either young, or female.)  

Anoles are quiet and mostly eat bugs, which I appreciate. (The name rhymes with ravioli.)
They are curious, and not scary or threatening. However, this one sometimes shows aggressive behavior if another anole enters its territory – even if it is on the outside of the screen – by doing push-ups and extending the dewlap under its chin.  

Anoles are quite plentiful, and a favorite food for the American Kestrels, and Great Egrets living in the neighborhood. Recently I saw a kestrel blast over and snatch an anole up from the ground just outside the porch in a split-second attack. It definitely would have been safer inside the house.

Kestrels in the Virgin Islands mostly eat anole lizards

Outside the front door is a small entry deck, where my husband puts a bowl of kibbles for the neighborhood cats. If they don’t finish it, a Ground Lizard (Ameiva exsul) might stop by to grab a bite. This lizard is sometimes called a ‘skink’ in the Virgin Islands, although that name generally refers to a different, rarer species. The ground lizard is larger and beefier than the anoles, with a snake-like body. It moves very quickly, swinging from side to side, more like a ‘slink’.

Ground Lizard eating cat food 

There is an old teak chair by the door, which for some reason recently attracted a bright, young Green Iguana. They don’t usually come into the house, though there was that time when my son’s girlfriend came to visit and reached into her suitcase to find an iguana sitting in there. Someone must have left the door open. 

Young Green Iguana

These iguanas get darker, spiky-backed, and considerably less attractive when they get larger – especially when one decides to take a dip in the pool. 

Adult Green Iguana relaxing in our pool

I had another eek! moment recently when I got out the large pasta pot and something dark was crawling around in it. After I jumped, I realized it was not a gross roach, but a Dwarf Gecko (Sphaerodactylus macrolepus), which some people call a ‘wood slave’. They are nocturnal, and I only seen them occasionally, like when I move a picture frame on the wall and one is sleeping behind there and quickly runs off.

I have never been able to get a good look at one, so I grabbed my camera and took a few shots of this one before it crawled up the side of the pot and hopped out.

The photos turned out to have a surprisingly existential quality, I thought, capturing the general feeling of safer-at-home isolation, confinement and vertigo.

Dwarf Gecko in the pasta pot

Red, White and Blue Birds in the Fish Bay Wetlands

Even though the ponds in the Fish Bay wetlands are mostly dried up now due to lack of rain, there are a couple of places where there is still some water, and those are attracting a variety of birds. 

The celebrity Scarlet Ibis is a new winter resident, maybe a stray from the group at Necker Island in the British Virgin Islands, or maybe a wanderer from farther away. It arrived in the Fish Bay area in December and was still around in early April. There has also been another one near Annaberg.

The one in the Fish Bay wetlands wanders around sticking its long bill into the mud and pulling out fiddler crabs, insects and other treats. Sometimes it then walks out into the water and rinses off its bill - interesting behavior to observe. At other times it walks through the water, seeming to snap up bugs and maybe small fish.

The largest white birds are Great Egrets, and they are year-round residents. They can be seen walking the roads hunting for lizards, and they are also going after the fish now trapped in the remaining pond water. Meanwhile they are showing off their long, wispy breeding plumage, along with green coloring around their eyes, in preparation for finding a mate.

You can also sometimes see another permanent resident, the smaller Snowy Egret, which has a dark bill and striking yellow feet.

The Little Blue Herons are less visible but they are also resident birds, hunting for fish in the ponds and bays. Interestingly, the juvenile ones are white until they are about one year old. After that they begin to add blue feathers, a few at a time. They are smaller than the Great Egrets, their legs are light green rather than black, and their bills are a two-toned gray and black rather than a yellow.  


I'll Be Home For Earth Day

    Schoolchildren learned about local birds at the 2019 Earth Day fair on St. John. 

As Earth Day events have been cancelled in the Virgin Islands and around the world, can we find other ways to acknowledge this historic anniversary?

Maybe a good start would be to review what Earth Day was originally about, and consider what has changed over the past 50 years.

The idea of a national mobilization day to protect the earth came from Senator Gaylord Nelson of Wisconsin, in response to uncontrolled pollution from power plant emissions, industrial wastes, sewage runoff, oil spills and pesticides.
In January 1969, about 3 million gallons of crude oil was released off the coast of Santa Barbara, California, leaving an oil slick that spread over 35 miles. People across the country were shocked to see photos of thousands of birds and fish smothered in oil. The damage resulted from inadequate safety precautions by an oil drilling company. An explosion cracked the sea floor, and the flow of crude oil went on for over a month.
Another dramatic incident in June 1969 also captured the nation’s attention. The Cuyahoga River in Cleveland, Ohio, caught fire, with flames shooting up a hundred feet into the sky. What kind of river catches fire? The Cuyahoga, which empties into Lake Erie, was heavily polluted by industrial waste from manufacturing plants.   
On April 22, 1970, about 20 million Americans (close to ten percent of the population then) participated in the first Earth Day. The event sparked an organized public environmental movement in the country, and by July 1970 President Nixon had proposed the formation of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. In December 1970, Congress passed the Clean Air Act, and the Clean Water Act was added in 1972.
So Earth Day was a great success, right?
Well, the environmental movement was strongly countered by industrial pushback. Over the past 50 years, there have been continued tensions between demands for unfettered economic development and efforts to maintain and expand environmental protections. 
I was working as a lawyer at the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency in 1980 when President Reagan was elected. He promised to shrink government bureaucracy and free American businesses from what he viewed as unnecessary and burdensome regulations – especially environmental regulations. The agency was seriously weakened as a result.
Still, over time, national air and water pollution levels were brought down considerably. 
Then in the 1990s a new global environmental threat came into focus. Scientists warned that the earth’s atmosphere was in danger of overheating due to the accumulation of carbon dioxide, methane, and other gases released by power plants, motor vehicles and industrial production processes.  They explained that these ‘greenhouse gases’ trap heat near the earth’s surface, and that increasingly warmer temperatures would lead to global climate disruption, including droughts, fires, flooding, and more intense storms.
Many trees were blown over in the Virgin Islands during Hurricane Irma in 2017. 
Earth Day took on a new significance as global greenhouse gas emission concerns began to overshadow local and national pollution problems. 
In 1992, I was involved with the preparations for an international ‘Earth Summit’ organized by the United Nations, which resulted in several critical environmental agreements. One of them was the Framework Convention on Climate Change, which was agreed to by all countries, including the United States. It was signed by President Bush, Sr. and ratified by the U.S. Senate.
However, the United States has not supported many of the subsequent international initiatives designed to prevent or reduce the predicted damage to the earth’s climate. Industries that would be negatively affected by regulations to limit greenhouse gas emissions (like fossil fuel companies) have argued that the economic costs and disruptions would be too extreme. Meanwhile, some of the predicted effects from climate change are already being seen in many parts of the world.   

This year the organizers of Earth Day hoped for another historic moment when citizens everywhere would rise up to call for greater creativity, bravery and action on averting a catastrophic climate crisis.
Ironically, today the world is, in fact, bound together for a shared historic moment, as the coronavirus pandemic has completely disrupted business-as-usual in unimaginable ways, and most of us are confined to our homes.
Yet while we are concentrating on the current health threats, this crisis does provide us with an unexpected opportunity to rethink our lives and priorities.
I was preparing for Earth Day this year by raising tree seedlings to be distributed through a project organized by the Friends of the Virgin Islands National Park. The idea was to help people who lost trees (and maybe also houses) to be able to do some replanting. Since the pandemic, I have also started planting vegetables for a quarantine garden.
Sugar apple tree seedlings for a planned Earth Day 2020 replanting project. 

Germinating seeds and nurturing small sprouts requires patience as well as vigilance. I have had to protect them from deer and iguanas, and have been amazed by all the types of damaging insects they attract. Successfully producing food is actually quite miraculous, and cannot be taken for granted.
Although this may not be the right moment for mass mobilization gatherings to demand action on climate change, there are many online ways we can support climate protection and local conservation projects. Meanwhile, those of us lucky enough to be safe in our homes can reflect on how closely all of us on the earth are linked to each other, and how dependent we are on a healthy, functioning planet for our food and other survival needs.

Native Flowers Brighten Up the Roadsides

The Black Caper has delicate white flowers that turn purple in the evening. 

While the Virgin Islands beaches are closed, more people are getting their exercise by taking solitary or socially-distanced walks along the roads. In some areas, the native trees and plants on the roadsides can provide a welcome distraction, as they may reveal small beauties that generally go unnoticed.

In the past few years I have gotten to recognize some of the native Virgin Islands flowers, and I have been happy to see familiar friends on my current walks on St. John.

In the cool of the evening I noticed the flowers on a Black Caper tree (Quadrella cynophallophora), which is also known as Black Willow or Jamaican Caper. The ‘black’ in its name refers to the darkness of the leaves and trunk, not the color of the flowers, which are white at first, and then turn purple later in the day. I was excited to catch both colors in the same photo.

The White Cedar (Tabebuia heterophylla) has delicate trumpet-shaped flowers that range in color from pale to bright pink. The flowers are lovely, although they are often sparse and widely spread out on the tree. In this case, the name refers to the color of the wood inside, when it is cut. The larger trees were traditionally used for building boats.
This White Cedar tree had only one pale, purplish pink flower when I passed by.

The Pitch Apple tree (Clusia rosea) also has a pink flower but it is much more fleshy and robust than the White Cedar flower. The name of the tree comes from the fruit, which is about the size of an apple and has sticky seeds inside. Birds eating the fruit sometimes drop the seeds onto other types of trees, where they germinate and develop aerial roots that wrap around the host tree, like a strangler fig. The leaves are thick and fleshy also, and people used to scratch their names or messages into them, so another name for it is “Autograph Tree’.

The Pitch Apple flower develops into a fruit with sticky seeds that is popular with birds. 

Orange Manjack (Cordia rickseckeri) is a drought-resistant tree that only grows in Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands. It has clusters of small, tubular orange blossoms that are attractive to hummingbirds and bananaquits. Bats eat the fruit and spread the seeds.

The flowers on the Orange Manjack tree grow in clusters throughout the year

 In dry, coastal areas, you might see tiny pink flowers growing out of the reddish, bristly crown of a Turk’s Cap cactus (Melocactus intortus). The top of this small barrel-shaped cactus looks a bit like a Moorish fez, a red felt hat that was worn during the time of the Ottoman Empire. The resulting small pink fruits are eaten by people passing by, as well as lizards and birds.     

The Turk’s Cap cactus has tiny pink flowers and fruit. 

The Frangipani tree (Plumeria alba) is probably more familiar to most people. I often see them growing wild, but both the native ones and similar cultivated types are planted in yards because of their beautiful flowers. These trees are also famous for attracting large brightly-colored caterpillars, which eat all the leaves but don’t actually kill the trees. The caterpillars turn into large, gray Pseudosphinx moths.  

                           The Frangipani flower is fragrant at night to attract moths for pollination
These are only a few of the local flowers I have seen recently when I have been out walking. I do look forward to enjoying the beautiful island beaches again soon, but in the meantime at least there are a few bright spots to be found along the road. 

Wintering Warblers Are Leaving Now March 2020

As visitors clear out of the Virgin Islands, many birds are beginning to move on as well. They are not worrying about their health, but are heading towards their regular breeding grounds in the northeast United States and Canada.

The most common types of warblers regularly spending the winter here are the Northern Parula, the American Redstart, and the Black-and-white Warbler. They generally begin to arrive in September and are gone by April.

Northern Parula

You probably won’t miss the wintering warblers after they go because they are very difficult to see even when they are here. They are quite small (about the size of a bananaquit or a bit less) and tend to stay hidden in the forest.  

Also they don’t sing in the winter because they don’t breed here. Most bird songs are produced by males as they advertise their availability to females for mating, and at the same time try to keep other males out of their territory.

Here in the Virgin Islands you might hear faint ‘chip’ sounds in a tree as warblers call to each other, and if you have a lot of time and patience, the birds might eventually show themselves. Bananaquits sometimes make ‘chip’ sounds too, which can be confusing, but the warblers are generally quieter and more secretive.   

If you are looking for warblers, it is also helpful to know that they have different bug-hunting strategies.

I have watched Northern Parulas quietly creeping around the tops of trees in the early morning, when the sun begins to warm the leaves, picking off insects as they wake up.   

American Redstarts are more noticeable as they hop around in the tree branches, flapping their bright tails and wing feathers to scare up insects.  

American Redstart

Black-and-white Warblers methodically crawl up tree trunks and branches, carefully digging into the bark for grubs and other bugs.    
Black-and-white Warbler

For a long time I didn’t really look for warblers because it just seemed too hard. Then last year I had an opportunity to go along on a warbler identification mission with an expert, David Ewert from the American Bird Conservancy in Virginia, who could recognize different warblers just by listening to slight differences in their ‘chip’ sounds. I was impressed.  

In January 2019, Ewert was in St. John with his colleague Robert Askins from Connecticut College doing an assessment of changes in the warbler population after Hurricanes Irma and Maria. Previously, Ewert and Askins had studied birds on St. John every couple of years between 1987 and 1997. After Hurricane Hugo in 1989, they observed that the estimated population densities of many species declined significantly, particularly among birds that depend on fruit or nectar.

In 2019, Ewert and Askins received a grant from the Friends of the VI National Park to return and compare the number of forest birds on St. John with their earlier records at the same survey points. They reported that warblers were still coming to winter on St. John despite the damage to forests from Hurricanes Irma and Maria. Since these warblers mostly eat insects, they were not directly impacted by the loss of flowers and fruits after the storms, unlike the resident pigeons, doves and hummingbirds. The number of Black-and-white Warblers was down though. Since they mostly forage on the thick branches and trunks of live trees, they may have found the forests less hospitable after the 2017 storms.

My experience on the trail with Ewert encouraged me to pay more attention to warblers.  Even though I have not yet learned to identify them by the sound of their ‘chips’, I have become more patient about listening, waiting and looking. As a result, I discovered that some warblers actually spent the winter near my house, especially Northern Parulas. I have been happy for their company, and will miss them after they move north.  

Meanwhile there are Yellow Warblers that live here all year and breed here. I can hear them singing their song, which is commonly interpreted by birders as “Sweet, sweet, sweet, I’m so sweet”.  A joyful sound in these troubled times.

Tracking Endangered Mute Frogs February 2020

                         A mute frog located in January 2020 by researcher Pearl Cales in Cruz Bay, St. John

Rainy evenings can be very loud in the Virgin Islands, as male frogs call out in the night to declare their availability for mating, or to assert their territorial rights.

Despite their lusty roaring, the native tree frogs are quite small and hard for most people to see. However, when I went out hunting one night with frog expert Pearl Cales and her team of researchers, she was able to locate several of them within just a few minutes.

We were particularly looking for a type of native tree frog, Eleutherodactylus lentus, found only in Virgin Islands woodland areas. It is a yellow mottled coqui, commonly known as a mute frog. While it is not really mute, it does have a call that is much softer than the other local frogs.

Cales was excited to find a few of the mute frogs last year along a gut behind Cruz Bay. It was the first recorded sighting of these frogs on St. John since 2004, when they were seen near The Westin.

                                     Pearl Cales with a mute frog she sighted in 2019 in Cruz Bay, St. John
                                            (Photo by William Stelzer)

Cales was hoping the mute frogs were still around.

Wearing our headlamps, we walked carefully along the trail until Cales quickly spotted one of the frogs sitting on a log, very close to where she saw them last year. I was happy that the frog didn’t seem scared, and sat still for a while so I could get a close look and a photo.

There are more mute frogs on St. Thomas and St. Croix, but they have all suffered from habitat loss, particularly where land has been cleared for roads, houses, tourism and agricultural use.

In 2004 these Virgin Islands mute frogs were listed as endangered by the International Union for the Conservation of Nature.

Eleutherodactylus frogs evolved to survive in forest habitats, rather than ponds. During the rainy season, they lay their eggs in ditches or bromeliad plants, or on wet leaves on the ground (which is what the mute frogs do). The developing frogs go through their tadpole phase inside the tiny egg, and hatch as miniature grown frogs.

Cales received a grant this year from the Friends of the Virgin Islands National Park to support her research. She will gather more information about how many mute frogs are living in St. John’s Cruz Bay area, and what sorts of habitat they prefer. She will also follow up on her earlier data collection studies. For six years she has been conducting ‘roadside listening’ surveys to document the calls and population numbers of native frogs on St. John, including: the red-eyed coqui (Eleutherodactylus antillensis), the whistling coqui (Eleutherodactylus cochranae), and the Caribbean white-lipped frog (Leptodactylus albilabris).

                                        A whistling coqui frog on a bromeliad (Photo by William Stelzer)

Cales’s goal is to provide a baseline for protecting the endangered mute frogs, as well as the other types of native frogs.

“Data gathered from this project, and our prior work over the past years, will help support future preservation efforts in the Virgin Islands”, said Cales. “Conservation is the ultimate duty we, as scientists, owe to species around the world. Public outreach and education is critical for that work.”

One particular threat comes in the form of large, non-native cane toads. They are voracious eaters, consuming anything they can fit into their mouths, including smaller frogs. A couple of years ago some of these toads were found very close to the gut where the mute frogs live in Cruz Bay, and nearby residents have been alerted to watch out for them.  

Cales first came to the Virgin Islands in January 2014 for an undergraduate course in Tropical Ecology taught by Richard Veit, a professor at the City University of New York in Staten Island. She is expecting to receive a master’s degree in Environmental Science in June 2020, and is currently working at the Staten Island Zoo, which is also supporting her Virgin Islands frog research.  

Pearl Cales with her colleagues on a recent evening of frog research. From left to right: Jessica Abalos, Educator/ Lead Farmer at Snug Harbor Cultural Center and Botanical Garden; Pearl Cales, Adjunct Professor at the College of Staten Island and Urban Advantage Coordinator at the Staten Island Zoo; and Danielle Fibikar, Wildlife Field Biologist/ Adjunct Professor at the College of Staten Island, and Educator at Snug Harbor Cultural Center and Botanical Garden