My needle in a haystack

From a distance, all you can hear are Spring Peepers--their shrill voices, a constant now, in the dimness of an early morning or approaching sunset. But, if you move closer, beneath the hundred boldly-singing peepers' deafening calls, the call of a Western Chorus Frog can be heard. Just a handful are here, compared the the hundreds of others--their sound that of a finger stroking the teeth of a fine comb. Equally as small as a peeper, and buried in the grasses rimming Little Pond pool.

A more shy character, with a striped back--instead of a cross.

And very long toes for grasping grasses and branches.

But, equally fond of singing.

Sorry for the poor focus on this individual.
The night is so black, I'm only able to aim the camera in the direction of his call,
and must rely on the camera to adjust.
It seems to prefer this leaf.

ENature has a recording of his call here.