Agalychnis callidryas
Drawn from open occurrence records in and around Tortuguero, aggregated onto a 10 km grid. A cell is matched by its centre, which can sit up to 16 km outside the boundary, so this covers the surrounding country too.
Occurrence records measure where people looked and found something, which is not the same as where the animal is. This is a relative likelihood, not a probability.
Records exist for January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November and December, with the widest coverage in January, April and July. A quiet month can mean the animal was absent, or that nobody was looking.
A grid cell is a square of the map, not a sighting: 10 squares of 10 km carry records for Red-eyed Tree Frog in and around Tortuguero, and the 66 records behind them were collected by other people and published openly. Nothing here counts animals, and a place with more records is not always a place with more animals.
The postcard amphibian of the tropics earns the job at the moment of waking: a sleeping red-eyed tree frog is a green leaf-shape, everything tucked away, until a disturbance snaps open two enormous crimson eyes and flashes the blue-and-yellow striped flanks and orange feet. The theory is startle defense, a half-second of predator confusion that buys a leap. By day they sleep pressed under leaves; by night they hunt insects through the understory around ponds. Females lay eggs in jelly clutches on leaves overhanging water, and the embryos hold a party trick biologists adore: sensing the vibrations of an attacking snake, they can hatch early and escape, dropping into the water days ahead of schedule.
Never reposition a frog for a cleaner shot; skin absorbs whatever is on your hands, from repellent to sunscreen.