Catching frogs under the moonlight.

My maternal grandparents' hometown is Tam Thanh, now divided into two districts, Tam Nong and Thanh Thuy, in Phu Tho province . Surrounded by two major rivers, the Red River and the Da River, the area experiences flooding for at least two or three months each year. During those times, the fields are completely submerged. Therefore, houses are usually built on hills. Rice can only be grown once a winter crop; by summer, after the harvest, the water returns.

The entire region shifted to the fishing industry. Every household built rafts, cast lines and nets, set traps for carp, and set eel traps. Besides the seasonally flooded fields, the area also had deep water fields that never dried up. These were home to all kinds of aquatic animals. I often heard stories from locals about the giant softshell turtle, which could weigh over 200 kilograms. Later, I learned that it was the same species as the turtles in Hoan Kiem Lake, also known as the Shanghai softshell turtle.

Back then, there were many turtles, and people would occasionally catch them for meat. But it had to be professional turtle hunters who specialized in trapping them; ordinary people had no way of catching those turtles weighing hundreds of kilograms, with their incredibly strong mouths and four legs that could tear through any net.

My maternal grandfather didn't participate in frog hunting, even though he had eaten frog meat before. Besides plowing and harvesting, his favorite pastime was setting traps and catching frogs. He caught frogs year-round, except for a few months in winter, when the frogs had retreated into their burrows to escape the cold.

In spring and early summer, when the rice plants had grown lush and tall, reaching waist-high, my grandfather would begin preparing his frog-catching gear. The fishing rod was made from a type of small, straight, and flexible bamboo. He would choose a bamboo stalk about the size of a thumb at the base, 7-8 meters long. While the stalk was still fresh, he would heat it over a fire and straighten the rod. Then he would tie it securely to a pillar at the front of the house to shape it, waiting for the bamboo to dry completely before using it. He would attach a thick fishing line, almost as thick as a toothpick, to the end of which was a lead weight, and then the hook.

At 10 p.m., after dinner, my grandfather went to the fields to catch frogs. Experienced frog catchers in the area, like my grandfather, could distinguish between frogs, toads, and other similar creatures just by the light reflected from the animal's eyes. The eyes of toads and frogs were far apart, while the eyes of toads and frogs were close together. "To tell the difference between a toad and a frog, pay attention to this characteristic: Frog eyes are clear, while toad eyes have a reddish tint," my grandfather said.

But unlike when using a flashlight to catch frogs, when fishing with a rod and line, the angler must absolutely not use a flashlight and avoid making any noise, except for the sound of the bait, so that the frog confidently bites. My grandfather usually used earthworms, hooking them into a ball, lifting them up and dropping them with a splashing sound in the shallow rice fields. "The splashing sound, like a small prey foraging for food, along with the fishy smell from the earthworms, stimulates the larger frogs," my grandfather said. On many days when he was in a hurry and couldn't dig up earthworms, he would catch a toad and use its stomach as bait. Fishing with a toad's stomach was also effective, and the bait was tough and durable, although not as effective as earthworms.

In the darkness of night, my grandfather, wearing a straw hat and a basket slung over his hip, was gently fishing in the vast rice fields. As he was casting his line softly, he suddenly felt a rustle in the rice stalks, and the fishing line tightened at the tip. He knew a frog had bitten the hook. Counting from one to ten to signal it to swallow, he flicked the rod and lifted it high. The large frog thrashed its four legs, struggling violently to escape. But it was eventually forced to sit in the basket with its companions caught earlier, croaking loudly.

Some days he'd catch two or three frogs, other days he'd catch a dozen or more, enough to cook a pot of frog stew with banana and beans for the whole family to enjoy the next evening. Around 2 AM, whether he caught a lot or a little, he'd always come home so he could go back to the fields the next morning.

But that was during the dry season. During the flood season, my maternal grandfather caught frogs with a net, paddling a small boat.

Tonight, he let me, his nephew who was born in the countryside but grew up in the outskirts of Hanoi , tag along with him to catch frogs.

Tonight is the 16th of the lunar month, and moonlight shines across the vast expanse of waterlogged fields. I didn't understand how one could catch frogs in fields where the water was waist-deep. He said, "Just watch me catch them later, and you'll understand."

My grandfather put his tools at the front of the boat, wore a headlamp, and rowed gently, while I watched from behind. Our boat glided through the lotus, water lily, and other aquatic plants.

Suddenly, my grandfather put down the oar and switched to a long net. Following the beam of the flashlight above his head, I saw the frog sitting on a palm leaf, facing us. I thought, "Just a slight touch and it'll jump into the water and disappear."

My grandfather held the net in front of the frog's face and then tapped the side of the boat with the oar. The frog jumped in surprise, but my grandfather's net was waiting in the direction it jumped.

My grandfather explained: "The frog is blinded by the light shining in its eyes, so it doesn't understand what's happening or what to do. If we startle it, it will instinctively leap forward and fall into the trap."

That night, my grandfather and I caught over two kilograms of frogs. My grandmother took half to the market to sell, and my grandfather grilled the rest so that his city-dwelling grandson could experience the taste of the countryside.

In the blink of an eye, my grandfather passed away a decade ago. The Red River and the Da River now have many hydroelectric dams upstream, and my hometown no longer experiences flooding. As a result, there are far fewer grouper fish, and hardly anyone goes frog hunting at night in the flooded fields like they used to. And even if they do fish, it's not as elaborate or time-consuming as my grandfather's method of making bamboo rods. They just spend a hundred bạc (Vietnamese currency) to buy a retractable rod made of fiberglass, and that's it.

At night, from village to village, the loud karaoke sounds drown out the chirping of crickets and frogs, which are no longer as numerous as before. The fields that were once bathed in moonlight are now barren, and large trucks have come here to dump soil for road construction.

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