Walk near a pond at dusk. It’s loud. Usually, people expect a chorus of "ribbits" to bounce off the water, but honestly, that's a bit of a Hollywood lie. Most frogs don't ribbit. Not even close. If you’re standing in a swamp in Louisiana or a backyard in Ohio, what you’re actually hearing is a chaotic, beautiful symphony of grunts, whistles, clicks, and things that sound suspiciously like a finger running over a plastic comb.
So, what sound do frogs make if it isn’t the classic "ribbit"?
It depends on who’s talking. In the world of anurans—that’s the scientific group for frogs and toads—sound is survival. It’s a dating profile, a territorial warning, and a scream for help all rolled into one. If you’ve ever wondered why your local pond sounds like a construction site or a bird sanctuary, it's because these little amphibians have evolved some of the most specialized vocalizations on the planet.
The Hollywood "Ribbit" Myth
We have the Pacific Tree Frog (Pseudacris regilla) to blame for our collective confusion. See, back in the early days of cinema, sound technicians needed a frog noise for outdoor scenes. They recorded the Pacific Tree Frog because it was local to the Los Angeles area. It happened to make a very distinct, two-part "rib-it" sound. Because that sound was layered into thousands of movies, from Westerns to horror flicks, the entire world grew up thinking every frog on Earth sounds like a resident of Malibu.
They don't.
If you go to the East Coast of the United States, you won't hear a single "ribbit." Instead, you’ll hear the American Bullfrog (Lithobates catesbeianus). Its call is a deep, resonant "jug-o-rum." It sounds like a bass fiddle or a grumpy old man complaining about the weather. It’s loud. It’s low-frequency. It carries for miles.
The Acoustic Mechanics of a Croak
How does a creature the size of a golf ball make enough noise to wake the neighbors? It’s all about the vocal sac.
Frogs are basically tiny bagpipes. They shut their mouths, pinch their nostrils, and force air from their lungs over their vocal cords into a specialized skin membrane called the vocal sac. This sac acts as a resonator. It’s like the body of an acoustic guitar; it takes a small vibration and amplifies it until it’s deafening.
Some species, like the Wood Frog, have paired vocal sacs that inflate on either side of their throat, making them look like they’ve swallowed two ping-pong balls. Others have a single, massive balloon under their chin. The Spring Peeper (Pseudacris crucifer), a tiny frog barely an inch long, can produce a whistle so piercing that it can actually cause physical pain to a human’s ears if you’re standing too close to a large colony.
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Think about that. One inch of frog. 90 decibels of sound.
Why all the racket?
Mostly, it’s the males. They are desperate. Breeding season is short, the water is cold, and the competition is fierce. When you ask what sound do frogs make, you’re usually asking what a male frog says to get a girlfriend. This is called an advertisement call.
But there are other "moods" in the pond:
- Territorial Calls: A shorter, sharper version of the main call. It basically means "this is my lily pad, back off or we’re fighting."
- Encounter Calls: These happen when two males get way too close. It’s less of a song and more of a grumble.
- Release Calls: If a male accidentally grabs another male (it happens, they aren’t very good at IDing in the dark), the "victim" lets out a specific chirp that says "Hey, I’m a dude, let go."
- Distress Calls: These are horrifying. If a snake or a bird grabs a frog, it will often open its mouth and scream. It sounds like a high-pitched "waaaaah," almost like a human infant or a cat in pain. It’s meant to startle the predator into dropping them.
A Field Guide to Weird Sounds
If you go outside tonight, you might hear things that don't sound like animals at all.
Take the Barking Tree Frog. It sounds exactly like a distant pack of hounds. If you’re in a pine forest in the Southeast, you might think you’re being followed by a dog. Nope. Just a green frog in a tree.
Then there’s the Green Frog (Lithobates clamitans). Its call is legendary among hikers because it sounds exactly like someone plucking a loose banjo string. "Twang!" Just once. Then silence. Then another "twang" from across the water.
In the desert, the Couch's Spadefoot Toad waits for the rare monsoon rains. When the water finally hits the sand, they emerge in the thousands. Their sound? A chorus of "bleats" that sound like sheep or goats in distress. It is eerie to stand in a dry wash and hear thousands of invisible sheep crying from the mud.
The International Language of Frogs
Different regions have their own "soundscapes."
In Australia, the Pobblebonk (yes, that is its real name, also known as the Eastern Banjo Frog) makes a sound that goes "bonk." When a group of them gets going, it sounds like "pob-ble-bonk." It’s a woody, percussive sound, almost like a mallet hitting a hollow log.
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Over in Puerto Rico, the Coquí is a national icon. Its name is literally an onomatopoeia for its call: "Co-kee! Co-kee!" The first note warns other males, and the second note attracts females. It’s a high-frequency whistle that defines the island's nightlife.
The Science of Pitch and Temperature
Here is something weird: frogs are literal thermometers.
Because they are cold-blooded (ectothermic), their metabolism and muscle movements are tied to the outside air temperature. If it’s a chilly spring night, the pulses in a frog’s call will be slow and the pitch will be lower. As the night warms up, the calls get faster and higher.
Herpetologists—scientists who study reptiles and amphibians—can actually estimate the temperature of a pond just by recording the "trill rate" of the resident Gray Tree Frogs.
Why the Silence is Scary
If you live near a spot where you usually hear a riot of sound every spring and suddenly it goes quiet, that’s a bad sign.
Frogs are "bioindicators." Their skin is permeable, meaning they soak up everything in their environment—including toxins and pollutants. They are the proverbial canaries in the coal mine. Dr. Tyrone Hayes, a well-known biologist at UC Berkeley, has spent years researching how common pesticides can literally silence frog populations by disrupting their development.
When the sound do frogs make stops, it usually means the water is sick.
Identifying What You Hear
If you want to know what’s in your own backyard, you don't need a PhD. You just need to listen for the "texture" of the sound.
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- Whistles and Peeps: Usually small tree frogs. If it sounds like a bird, it’s probably a frog.
- Trills: High-speed musical notes. This is often the American Toad or the Gray Tree Frog. It sounds like a vibrating telephone.
- Snoring: If it sounds like someone sawing wood or a long, drawn-out "snore," you’re likely listening to a Pickerel Frog or a Leopard Frog.
- Clicking: If it sounds like two marbles clicking together, look for Cricket Frogs.
Real-World Impact of Frog Noise
Believe it or not, frog noise can actually affect real estate.
In Hawaii, the invasive Coquí frog has become such a loud nuisance—hitting volumes of 90 to 100 decibels—that it has actually lowered property values in some neighborhoods. People can't sleep. It’s a constant, piercing whistle that never stops. On the flip side, many people in the mainland US find the spring chorus of peepers to be a "sound of home," a signal that winter is finally over.
How to Experience the Chorus
You don't need much to go "frogging."
Wait for a rainy night when the temperature is above 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Head to a local wetland, park, or even a drainage ditch. Turn off your flashlight. Sit still.
At first, they’ll be silent because they heard you coming. But after about five minutes, one brave male—usually the "satellite male" or a dominant leader—will let out a tentative chirp. Then another. Within ten minutes, the air will be vibrating.
It’s a prehistoric sound. Frogs have been making these noises since the time of the dinosaurs. When you hear a bullfrog’s deep drone, you’re essentially listening to a sound that hasn't changed in millions of years.
Actionable Steps for the Aspiring Listener
If you’re ready to move beyond just wondering what sound do frogs make and actually want to identify them, here is how you start:
- Download the "FrogWatch" App: Organizations like the Association of Zoos and Aquariums (AZA) have programs where citizens record frog sounds to help track populations. It’s a great way to learn.
- Check the USGS "Frog Call" Database: The United States Geological Survey has a massive library of high-quality recordings. Listen to the "Wood Frog" vs. the "Boreal Chorus Frog" to see if you can hear the difference between a quack and a creak.
- Create a Backyard Habitat: You don't need a huge lake. A small pre-formed pond with some native plants will attract local frogs within a single season.
- Listen at the right time: Dusk is the "Golden Hour" for amphibians. This is when the humidity rises and the predators have a harder time seeing them.
Don't expect them to sound like the cartoons. Expect them to sound like a weird, wonderful, rhythmic mess of nature. Whether it’s the "clack" of a cricket frog or the "honk" of a barking tree frog, these sounds are the heartbeat of the ecosystem. Next time you're outside and hear something that sounds like a rusty gate swinging in the wind, look down. It might just be a frog with a lot on his mind.
Next Steps for Nature Enthusiasts:
Start by recording a 30-second clip of the noise in your backyard tonight using your phone’s voice memo app. Compare it to the regional recordings on the National Wildlife Federation website to see exactly which species is claiming your territory. If the sound is a high-pitched "peep," you’re likely looking at a Spring Peeper; if it’s a rhythmic "jug-o-rum," you’ve got a Bullfrog.