Over the hills, through the woods

A cave adventure (caventure?) in north central Montana

Step One: Wakeup

 The cast assembled bright and early on a cold Saturday morning: a crew of five teenagers, two adults, and whatever I count as. Our mission was to reach two caves by plodding across the snowy hills, so that we could check them for hibernating bats. Everybody strapped into their snowshoes and followed the somewhat erratic guidance of my GPS.

During the first mile or so of a hike, I realize I actually hate hiking and should give it up and find a cozy chair and a book somewhere. Fortunately endorphins kick in after that, and I start to enjoy it (at least that's what I assume is happening).

Not too proud for hands and knees.

 We huffed and puffed our way over the hills, floundering in the dry, sugarlike snow. The views of the sweeping plains made it a pleasant experience, but we were relieved to reach the first cave, Wind Hole. Unfortunately, there was still a mile and a half to our real destination, the next larger cave, and there was a formidable ridge between us and it.

Crawlway into the Wind Hole

We would have to climb the mountainous ridge twice. A few members of the party decided it wasn't going to happen and called it a day, turning back to follow our packed-down trail out. The rest of us needed to pick up the pace if we were to get out before sundown.

Step Two: The Work

The way in!

 There was so much snow, we worried that the entrance to Cave #2 might be sealed off--a legitimate fear, as it turned out, as there was a giant mound of snow filling it. We rode the snowpile down in, crawled in the low entryway and got to work. Our efforts paid off--bats!

Or frozen batsicles.

Because of their presence, we placed a data logger to record temperature and humidity, snapped some shots of the bats for ID purposes and got out. It was a small cave, but combing every inch of it for bat sign still took time. We were in a race to get back before the sun set (and the temperature dropped even further).

Step 3: Get the Heck Out

Attempting a time-saving glissade down a snow chute

I don't usually feel that I am all that much use as a chaperone. The kids are spunky and resourceful, and could make it back on their own if necessary. But I was still happy that I was there to check in and make sure no one's fingers were getting frostnipped, and to herd them onward whenever they got sidetracked.

Eventually, we all made it back to the warm, waiting bus. It was well after dark, and the kids and I were pretty well exhausted. I found it surprisingly easy to nap during the six hours on the bus ride back to my car, adopting all sorts of contorted positions.

Step 3.5: Learning

It seems like I am learning more than the cave clubbers are, despite my supposed chaperone status. I'm trying to be patient but still push them on. Learn how much to help them, or let them figure things out on their own (so far, erring on the side of the latter).

One of the main things I am discovering is how much these kids are capable of. It is an amazing thing to watch a group of 15-year-olds take a burly hike in freezing temperatures and still get down to business and take their work seriously in the cave.

When I was 15, I would have literally died in the attempt.

It is the club leader, their high school teacher, who pulls off this magic. All I can do is come along and hope to pick up some of his wisdom, if he'll allow it.

Some days, I don't feel qualified to oversee grass grow. I am making mistakes, and I don't know what I'm doing most of the time. I can only hope that I stay humble and open toward these lessons. If I don't learn from them, there isn't a point.

After all, I have something important to work toward.

           Snuggling this adorable creature. (jokes, of course...)

Project Crabby

This is only vaguely related to the Bridge Project; however, because I am staying in Montana for the summer, having a pet just became a possibility.

I have never before committed myself to any living creature that is solely my own--as it stands, my mother is still taking care of a certain cactus named Giselle for me, because my life is too unstable to support a cactus.

Giselle is a pretty lady. (Courtesy of Clint Whittle)

As pathetic as that is. Anyhow, being a wildlifer, animals are a pretty important part of my life, and recently my roommate's cat was relocated, leaving a cat-sized gap in the household.

If you think this is leading to me getting a cat, you're quite wrong, but I did choose another pet that is reserved and a little prickly.

Introducing la bella crab, Belle!

Up until about a week or two ago, I wasn't even aware that people kept crabs as pets, because I am that well informed. But my other animal-starved roommate and I looked into getting a fish and somehow stumbled onto other beginner aquarium animals.

We spent quite a while researching the needs of hermit crabs before we decided to get them, but I must admit I was sold as soon as I heard the crabs' homes referred to as "crabitats." Because that's just darn cute.

Call him Indiana.

When Winston first crawled out onto my palm, my reaction was both excitement and a little terror. Their alien legs are so hard and pointy, and the large purple pincer is a little intimidating. I've never played with a bug-eyed crustacean before--my usual pets are of Class Mammalia and a bit cuddlier.

Belle and Winston would make a great indie band!

They are actually really great pets. They seem stimulated by human attention, and will come out of their shell to see what's up when we hold them. They also poke their heads out to be misted with water. Curiosity is an admirable trait in any animal, and it's almost surprising to see in a crab. As a wildlife biologist hopeful, it seems like a good idea to learn such things. (This is where I justify getting a pet as a valuable learning experience).

Also, they seem pretty self-sustaining, which is a plus because I'm going to be on the move all summer. Speaking of which, Bridge Project is slowly progressing. 2/3 of my thesis committee is on board, and I am approved to register for Thesis 499. I've started writing my proposal, and it's all gettin real folks!

Coming soon to a bridge near you! (photo mdt.gov)

I am still a little sad about not returning to Alaska this season--not because I am not grateful for this amazing research opportunity, but because I wish I could divide myself like an amoeba and send Second Me to Alaska while First Me gets down with the bats here in Montana.

Amoebas aside, the future is looking pretty bright right now. More caving, more friends to meet and experiences to share. No complaints here.

-E.W.

*Update* Belle comes out of her shell!!

Bridge Project: Stage 1

First off, I have to apologize--these blog posts probably won't be very exciting. When I get all nerded up it's hard to stop me. I'll try to throw in an interesting picture or two to shake things up.

For example.

Anyway: I get the impression that no one has tried to do a Wildlife Senior Thesis at my wonderful university this century, since no one seems quite sure what the guidelines are. I'm not sure if this is terrifying or reassuring, because we can all screw up together.

However, I can say that the faculty has been wonderful and supportive. I have begged help from university affiliates who aren't even paid professors, and they have gracefully agreed to give up their time for me. I intend to figure out the favorite cookie/food item of every person who helps me out and deliver them before this is all over.

In all seriousness, it is wonderful and surprising that people in my chosen field are such willing mentors. I hope I am in a position to do the same one day, and that I remember how much I was given.

That being said, I am certainly at the bottom of the slope of effort concerning this project.

The Mountain of Responsibility!

Meaning, all the work lies ahead of me now. Is it sick that I am a little excited about that? I like work, I really do. (Contrary to what I'll tell you if I have to wake up early).

When I first discovered that caving was a thing that actually happened in Montana (yes, this was less than a year ago. . . ) I went to the library and whiled away an entire afternoon buried in books about caving. I was supposed to be studying for an exam, but, y'know. . . For the rest of the semester, I kept a old black book, Caves of Montana, at my bedside. I stayed up late and made meticulous sticky-notes throughout the book. Here was a cave I wanted to visit one day, or here was a cave that had been lost--maybe I could find it?

Second example: when the first tundra wildflowers began popping up during my summer in Barrow, my excitement grew to a level of obsession. Armed with a semester's worth of plant study, I embarked to identify and know every species of plant I saw on the tundra. For two months, I obsessively photographed, catalogued, and fell in love with every flower and willow I saw. After my real work was done for the day, I retreated to work on a 55-slide powerpoint with the taxonomy of every plant.

You rare beauty, Mare's Tail. . .

I repeated their Latin names to myself until I memorized them. Devoted myself to studying them as I have never in my life devoted myself to schoolwork.

Should this come off as bragging, I would remind you that I've never been able to summon this depth of fascination and focus on things that I am supposed to be doing--just my own side, pet projects.

Which is why I hope to summon this nearly insane-level devotion for the Bridge Project. I will do whatever it takes. Stay up however many nights I need, spend many lonely hours collecting data solo this summer. I want to do this, and I want to make it work.

You see, I'm not a born scientist. Not a logical, ordered thinker. I have always been more of a dreamer type. But every so often, something fires me up like Arctic plants, and I think, maybe I do belong here. Maybe I could actually contribute something worthwhile.

I am not naturally skilled, exceptionally smart or talented. But dammit, I can make up for that with sheer, overwhelming drive. . . I hope.

Wish me luck.

--Ellen