My only goal is not to embarrass myself. As I hold my frog, Foo Froggers, gently in my left hand and make my way to the green painted lily pad on a concrete platform, I become aware of how stupid that sounds. Who cares what happens? The line of people waiting to borrow a rental frog and take place in a more-than-a-century-old tradition snakes along, easily a half hour long at this point in the afternoon. None care how far my frog jumps, how close Foo Froggers comes to the world record, or if it (I don’t know Foo’s gender) jumps at all. We are all just here for the unadulterated wholesome fun of it.

Of course, not all who come here to the Calaveras County Fair and Frog Jumping Jubilee are so casual about it. On the main stage, under a sign with the world record of 21 feet, 5 3/4 inches set by Rosie the Ribiter (what a name!) in 1986, the competitive teams ply their frog jumping skills. Qualifying jumps take place throughout the weekend, with the top 50 frogs and their jockeys making Sunday afternoon’s finals. The winner gets a cool $1,000, but that jumps – get it? – to $20,000 for breaking the long-held record.

On stage now are two teams, the World Champion Frog Team (from which both the record holder and last year’s champion hail, part of their whopping thirteen championships) and the Calaveras Frog Jockeys. Off to the side waiting their turn is the Gustine Frog Team, and 2017 champion Justin Fasano from that team takes a few minutes to speak to me about the basics.

Justin is a third-generation frog jockey, part of a team that has been competing here for more than sixty years. He doesn’t live in Calaveras County, and neither does most of the clan, but comes each year with his dad, grandmother Lillian, and dozens of other family members to compete. For him, for the entire Gustine Frog Team, and for the eight other teams that are taking part in this year’s competition, this is not just a day of fun. This is a culmination of a year of training.

Teams catch their own frogs, all California bullfrogs, to compete. For those in the Fasano branch of the Gustine Frog Team, frogs are run through Croaker College, and then an NFL-style combine, where the top are chosen, named, and brought here for members to jump in the qualifying heats. Jockeys, as those who jump frogs are called, are only allowed to make the finals with a single frog, so after reaching a score that is highly likely to qualify, those family members will give way to others. Gustine seems to have about a third of all finals participants on Sunday afternoon.

Justin explains the rules. A jockey takes the frog, and places it on the lily pad. All four feet must be contained inside, or it is a false start and must be re-placed. While on the pad, jockeys can touch their frogs, but the moment it leaves the green enclave, touching results in a disqualification. The goal is to get the frog to jump as far as it can away from the lily pad. Spotters mark the end of the third jump, and that location is measured. It doesn’t matter how much distance is covered, only how far it goes from the center of the pad, so getting your frog to jump in a straight line is key.

Jockeys all have different methods for getting their frogs to jump. Some will yell or slap the ground. Some will blow on the frog. Some will flick it on the rear (which can only be done prior to the first hop from the lily pad, else a touching disqualification). Teams will dunk their frogs in water prior to them jumping to try to reach what they think is the perfect temperature (apparently from 79 to 84 degrees Fahrenheit, though each team politely declines to tell me exactly what they use in their cooler). The result is a hilarious time spent watching people encouraging frogs to jump, spotters taking careful note of the marks, and people with nets preventing escape. (Note that all frogs are released after the competition, returning to wherever they were found. If one team found fifty frogs in a certain pond, fifty will be returned there, even if they aren’t the exact fifty.)

For the “professionals,” jumps under sixteen feet or so don’t seem to have a glimmer of hope at advancing to the finals this year. For the amateurs next door, like me, frogs borrowed for a $5 fee from the “frog spa” beneath the stage rarely seem to exceed ten feet. Foo Froggers and I reach the lofty length of seven feet eight inches – I use the blowing technique that Justin does – just beating out A and her frog, Pearl Jump. (It isn’t a requirement to have a frog pun as a name, but really, why wouldn’t you? I only regret that someone else came up with Luke Skyhopper instead of me.) I win our friendly bet, collect my ribbon, pose with my frog, and move back to watch the real heats.

Frogs have been inextricably tied to Calaveras County, California since Samuel Clemens came here in 1864, both to run from debtors in San Francisco and to make his fortune in the gold rush. It was here that he heard the story of an incredible jumping frog, and he wrote it down, publishing the tale under his pen-name, Mark Twain. It launched his career, and the Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County stuck, leading here, to the Frog Jumping Jubilee, in its 131st year. (Click here to read more about Mark Twain in Calaveras County.)

Frogs are celebrated throughout the county, but nowhere more so than in the town of Angel’s Camp. Here, lining a main road full of historic buildings, is the walk of fame, with past champions and their jumping feats. I find Justin’s frog, Kermit, from 2017, though other names like Davey Crockett and Tastes Like Chicken make me chuckle.

The Calaveras County Fair takes place the third weekend in May each year, and it seems the entire region comes out for it. (Signs all over the county proclaim businesses to be closed for their employees to attend.) There are the traditional carnival games and street food vendors, local artisans, and farm animals, though those seem a bit more authentic in a rural county of only 40,000 residents.

Frogtown Arena sits next to the jumping stage, and is easily the secondary highlight of the fair. Rodeo competitions are fun to watch, especially one where three people (two on horseback) have to herd three cattle into a trailer driven into the center of the arena. The cows don’t want to go in, and it is a hilarious spectacle watching them escape. It is even more hilarious after a glass of great local wine or a margarita.

Sunday’s frog jumping final is exciting. Jumps range from a mere four feet (from a frog that wanted simply to stroll rather than jump, despite having qualified at around seventeen feet yesterday) to over twenty. 86 year old Lillian Fasano, Justin’s grandmother, takes down first prize with a winning jump of 20’ 5 1/4” with second place coming in three inches and eighty years of age behind. (This is truly a multi-generational event.) Gustine Frog Team hoists the trophies, much to the chagrin of their rival World Champion Frog Club, though a Hatfield-McCoy style brawl doesn’t come about.

Competition done, the crowd moves to the grassy hill overlooking the arena for a Destruction Derby, where skilled drivers in old cars smash into each other for a cash prize awarded to the last car running. It’s not exactly my thing, but the excitement of close to 20,000 fans is contagious.

While I might have just barely missed out on setting the new frog jumping world record – ok, my jump would have come in 49th of 50 in the finals – I had an absolute blast here at the Calaveras County Fair and Frog Jumping Jubilee. Over two days, I got to experience a tradition that is both wonderful and unique, and celebrate that with thousands of new friends. And I beat A, earning both bragging rights and a victory coffee. What could be better than that?

A huge thank you to Go Calaveras, the Calaveras County Visitors Bureau, for once again hosting my trip to visit your amazing home. The hospitality and warmth shown by you, and by all of Calaveras County, is humbling and touching.

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