The Great Tadpole Wrangle was held today with much fanfare and little results. In fact, if you count the cricket frog I accidentially smooshed to death, the net sum of frogs/pollywogs saved is zero.
Over the weekend, Brown drained the pool down to (what we thought was) two feet of water in the deep end. The plan was that the frogs and tadpoles and whatnot would migrate to the remaining water, where Ursula and I would catch them and release them at a nearby pond.
Things we did not anticipate included: (a) how absolutely and indescribably disgusting the remaining water would become; (b) the nimbleness of frogs, tadpoles, and whatnots in pitch-black water; (c) that the pool was actually twelve feet deep instead of eight; and (d) how the pond scum turned the pool floor into a Slip-and-Slide made from filth.
I’ll sum up the afternoon by saying there was some screaming, and a few moments where if Ursula hadn’t been there I would have likely been trapped in the muck until Brown came home from work. The woman has my undying love and adoration for her quick hand with a rescue line.
After scouring ourselves raw, Ursula and I tried to plan the next course of action. We came up possible alternatives to wading through the horror. Shrimp traps, baited and rigged for tadpoles. The circular mesh nets they use at koi hatcheries. An inflatable baby pool placed dead center so when the rest of the water drained out, the critters would only have one place to go…
Brown, a practical man, heard about the Failed Wrangle and drained everything but the last six inches of water.
Tomorrow, we try again, but this time with a shovel.