"Well, hello, Frog number 982091075369878"

It is another day in Mayook Marsh, a wetland just outside Cranbrook, BC on the traditional and unceded territory of the Ktunaxa Nation. At a scorching 38 degrees Celsius, I am bathed in sweat under the relentless sun. With each step my right foot squelches from the pool of water I've collected in my leaky waders. "HUZZAH!" In the distance, a Columbia Spotted Frog perches on a mound of exposed mud, as if waiting just for me.

After a few minutes of trudging through the muck, I swiftly capture the frog with my hand and it's back to the truck. Here, I record measurements, snap photos, and insert a PIT tag. I murmur an introduction to myself: "Well, hello, Frog number 982091075369878, pleasure to meet you!" The frog is then weighed and fitted with a medium-sized transmitter held onto its body with a rather stylish belt - not quite Gucci, but cute, affordable, and fitting like a glove! With each belted frog, I am one step closer to collecting all the data I need for my Master's thesis through the University of British Columbia (UBC) under the supervision of Dr. Tara Martin and Dr. Leigh Anne Isaac.

Now in a bucket, the frog awaits patiently, observing the splashes of water within and listening to the distant hum of the engine and the occasional rock tapping the underside of the truck. We come to a stop. "We're here, your new home!" I announce. The frog springs out of the bucket and gracefully into the new wetland. We are approximately 5 km from where it was initially captured. In the weeks ahead I will closely monitor its body condition (i.e., measuring weight, snout-urostyle length, right shank length, and visual observations of the frog for signs of infection or disease), movements, and habitat preferences to assess how it acclimates to this relocation. I'm filled with both excitement and apprehension. What if the move was too stressful? What if it doesn't survive the initial move? What if it dislikes the habitat I've chosen? I'm reminded these are the very questions that brought me to this point all those years ago while working on a large oil and gas project.

Back then, it was my first job exclusively focused on herptiles (amphibians and reptiles). I'll confess, in my naivety I had little idea of what I was getting myself into. At the time I just knew that it was more money and more time with herptiles - the wildlife I planned to spend the rest of my career working with. As it turned out, I was hired to relocate all the herptiles to new habitats outside of the construction zone. These beautiful massive wetlands were slated for destruction and I, along with a small team, were tasked with this herptile "renoviction." It raised a lot of questions for me about the effectiveness of mitigation translocation; the very conservation practice I was currently implementing. Fast forward three years, and here I stood a MSc candidate, closely observing Frog 982091075369878, with only its head above the water, hoping to understand this practice in greater detail.

Days turned into weeks as my field assistants and I diligently monitored Frog 982091075369878 and its fellow amphibians. Before we knew it spring and summer were over and fall had begun. It was time to take the belts off the frogs, say our goodbyes, and head back to Vancouver.

Now, as I sit at home reflecting on this field season, I eagerly anticipate the arrival of spring. I hope to reunite with Frog 982091075369878 and its companions, armed with even more knowledge and a deeper appreciation for the delicate balance of human-wildlife conflict. It's a journey filled with challenges and questions - and a journey I could not have completed without the support of UBC, Ducks Unlimited Canada and the British Columbia Ministry of Water, Land and Resource Stewardship - but I wouldn't trade it for anything.