Bullfrogs in the Kalahari Desert lead secret lives. For most of the year they hide underground, wrapped in a membrane to preserve essential moisture. They can survive in a state of dormancy for months--even years. But the first rains bring them back to the surface.
I had been in the Kalahari for months, through a dry season that had baked the land to dust. Then, after the first cloudburst, everything changed. Grass sprang up. Animals reappeared. There was an exuberance in the air. I passed by a clay pan that had turned into a waterhole overnight, and spotted a big bullfrog sitting at the edge. I sensed an opportunity.
Male bullfrogs can be quite assertive when they’re in a territorial mood. When I approached this one, on hands and knees, he didn’t budge. But he submerged periodically to keep his skin wet, and that’s when I could move in. I inched closer when he ducked under, and froze when he resurfaced. When I got to a spot within arm’s reach of the frog, I stretched out flat on my stomach and braced the camera on my elbows.
It was a face-off at high noon, and an 18 mm, ultra-wide-angle lens was the perfect tool for the job. It enabled me to exaggerate the frog’s size relative to the setting, and yet link the two. An aperture of f22 created a depth of field from frog nose to infinity. By bringing the camera down to water level, I created the illusion of a disembodied head; a polarizer darkened the water surface and enhanced the appearance of clouds in the sky. I waited until a passing cloud cast some shade on the landscape while still allowing the sun to spotlight the frog. The dynamic play between frog and photographer, light and shadow, led to a final image in which seasonal rebirth is expressed in a face larger than life.
