Progress

This week marks the second full month of bridge surveys, and is likely the last full week I will be in the field. Tonight I am preparing for a week in the Bitterroots. Every day is a bit different and brings something new, and I am almost surprised at how excited I am for work.

That wasn't always the case. Looking back, I am sure I will only be left with the best memories and awesome moments, like looking up and finding a maternity colony after nearly 2 months of searching.

Some falls below Diamond Lake.

 It's been a process, though. The first few weeks, I was too concerned about getting my procedure down and getting some results, and I barely noticed the incredible beauty around me.

There are certainly things I wish I would have known starting out (which, without the aid of time travel, I could not possibly have known).

At first, just remembering everything I needed to do during a bridge visit took effort. One of my very first days out, I drove way out to check some Forest Service bridges and then stood there, looking helplessly at a bridge flooded by high spring runoff, with no water shoes, waders, or any way to access the bridge.

I wasn't really thinking in advance then. I was so worried about getting enough surveys done that I rushed. I'd follow my GPS as it tugged me around for miles on dirt track roads to nowhere, rather than stop and take the time to verify the route first (thinking I'd be saving time).
I had never worked by myself before, nor lived alone at the same time. Not having another person simply to bounce ideas off of and discuss plans aloud was surprisingly hard. Without articulating my plans, they were much less solid. I didn't feel sure of anything that I was doing.

Let's start from the...top?

Every fiber of my being was scared that I had taken on too much, or that I would fail somehow. One of my first joyous moments was in surveying a bridge with piles and piles of bat sign. I felt a rush of victory and my first sense of accomplishment. If it weren't for the bats, I would have given up a long time ago. I do not love bridges. They can be pretty cool (see above), but many of them are not anyplace I'd choose to be in a million years.

Really? Really?

 It's sort of funny, because this is the least physically demanding fieldwork I've had yet, but somehow I think it's forced me to be tougher in different ways. In the spring I spent quite a few days immersed in cold water before I wised up and bought chest waders. And I must say it's hard to focus on bat searching while getting swarmed by horseflies. But most of all, I can't just hand any decisions off to someone else and let them take care of logistical issues. I've had to truly own my decisions for the first time. It was an uncomfortable adjustment.

Staying dry!

The last few weeks, everything started to click. My volunteers are both reliable and hardworking ladies who have grasped what needs to be done, and are truly partners in every sense. I can trust now that I don't have to necessarily think of everything while I'm at the bridge, because I can rely on them to handle tasks without direction. This summer would not be the same without them to share both frustrations and joys with. In fact, I would seriously doubt my sanity at this point if I'd worked the whole summer alone (although doubts about my sanity come up for other reasons...)

Second, I have begun to relax and maybe enjoy myself a teeny bit. I figured out that Forest Service bridges were better left for later in the season when the water came down, and this has been advantageous in several ways--we now get to spend the heat of the summer in the relative coolness of the mountains, which is a lifesaver.

Not a bad view for a lunch break...

Having relaxed a little, I can soak in the experiences. I can pause to identify that new bird or frog. To notice the vast fields of huckleberries and stop for an emergency berry-picking session. To spend my lunch hour swimming in a high alpine lake, which my volunteer and I had all to ourselves.

But at the same time, we are beginning to run into more and more bats. We are more efficient at finding them, certainly, but they also simply appear to inhabit bridges more at the height of summer. Our very first bat bridge, which had a single occupant over a month ago, today has a thriving maternity colony with adorable little pups. The patience game has won out, and every ounce of effort toward this project seemed suddenly worthwhile.

Image from bellewood-gardens.com (I don't have permission to post my own pics yet). But this is how cute they are, y'all.

I am still making very silly mistakes (like committing to a hike with incorrect GPS points, which turned out to be 25 miles. Blisters...) But it seems far less overwhelming than when I started. Even, occasionally, totally fun.

I am left with simple gratitude that I have this chance in this beautiful place, with these amazing creatures. Every day is not wonderful. Some days are just hot, sticky, buggy, and bat-less, and that is just the way fieldwork goes. But other days...                                                                                 

 

Nearing the end of this, I would not trade this experience for anything.

And bats. Are. The bomb.

--Batwoman