ANGELS CAMP, California — Breanna Ziehlke is a 15-year-old sophomore from Angels Camp, a California town more commonly known around this time of year as as Frogtown. She's been a frog jockey "ever since I was not even one," which makes her a professional around here.
Breanna was 10 months old when she discovered a knack for getting an amphibian airborne. "I was born into it," she said.
We should back up at this point and explain that a frog jockey is someone who coaxes a frog to leap like it's never leapt before. It is a skill used only at the Calaveras County Fair & Jumping Frog Jubilee. The competition is held during the third weekend in May, which if you weren't paying attention was last weekend. Organizers say it draws about 35,000 people and $25 million to the local community. I guess there is money in weird sports, even if I'm not seeing much of it.
This might rock your literary world, but even Mark Twain loved this particular weird sport, so I must be onto something, right?
Twain unknowingly created this annual event in this California gold rush town. He waxed poetic about a gambler and his jumping frog in The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County in 1865, bringing celebrity to this small town east of Stockton, California. In 1928 the city, to celebrate the paving of the main street, held a frog-jumping competition in tribute to Twain's book. It's been held every year since, with the exception of 1933, when the Great Depression got a little more depressing when city officials canceled the contest.
The current record was set in 1986 by Rosie the Ribeter, who jumped 21 feet, 5 3/4 inches. Winning the annual event brings a payout of $750, but the frog jockey who breaks Rosie's record will win $5,000.
There are rules in frog jumping. All frogs must be at least 4 inches long. The jump must begin with all four feet within the 8-inch launch pad. The length of a frog's run is measured from where it starts to where it lands on its third jump. No frog? No problem. Anyone at the fair can rent one for seven bucks and join the fun, though the champions typically catch and train their own frog. (There's a smaller "Luly Pad" adjacent to the main event for kids, and frogs, in training.)
Getting a frog to jump when it doesn't necessarily want to jump is what separates the contenders from the pretenders. Some jockeys, like Breanna, scream and jump. Others slap the ground. Still others blow on their frogs. Yes, blow on them. A few do all of the above. The competition is intense, sometimes drawing thousands of entrants, so everyone goes through four days of qualifying rounds. The top 50 frogs make it to the finals, held on Sunday.
These amphibian athletes get a workout in the searing Sierra sunshine, but they're pampered between heats at the Frog Spa, a cool cavernous room underneath the main stage with several customized frog tanks. You can take a tour if you're interested. I did, and discovered that the contest has a Frog Welfare Policy that limits the number of jumps and mandates the playing of soothing music between heats.
And what is Breanna thinking while screaming at her frogs?
"Jump! Go!"
OK, that's a stupid question. Of course that's what she's thinking.
Breanna isn't the only frog jockey protégé in her family. Her younger brother, Michael, is showing sufficient skill that Nickelodeon will air a segment on him. And her father Mike Ziehlke is no slouch himself. The competitive nature of the Ziehlke family became obvious when dad tried to horn in on the interview.
"I can handle this myself," Breanna snapped, sending dad away like a frightened tadpole.
The family catches its own frogs. Lots of frogs. Sixty in all, though Breanna jumped only 15 the day I met her.
"I found one today that didn't have an eye, so that obviously wasn't going to work," she said.
Of course they've got names. Jumper. Hoppy. Jumpy Hopper. Jumpy. Hopper. Ding and Dong. There aren't nearly as many suitable names for frogs as you might think.
"I use the same names every year," she confessed.
Breanna is a sophomore at Bret Harte Union High School, which is home of the -- you guessed it -- Bullfrogs. Angels Camp is a small town, and only four local families regularly compete in the event. A lot of people might look at frog jumping and think, "WTF? Really?" Breanna can kind of see why, even as she tries to explain the appeal.
"You wouldn't think something as jumping a frog would be so intense, but it really is," she said. "It means more to me than it does to other people. It's a serious matter."
"Yeah, she needs to get better at it," dad says. Breanna rolls her eyes and snaps, "OK." I wonder if frog jockey dads might have something in common with dance moms.
Breanna didn't win. She finished seventh with a frog that jumped 18-foot-something. But a teammate on the Calaveras Frog Jockeys squad did win. Laura Kitchell, a frog jockey for 30 years, and her frog Billy Hopper won their first International Frog Jump with a jump of 19 feet, 5 1/2 inches.
Rosie the Ribeter's record stands for at least another year.
Photos: Sol Neelman/Wired
