Beginning the End

It has been an incredibly long time since posting, so it's a good thing I don't have regular readers!

This blog was started in my freshman year of college an amazing four years ago. It's almost unbelievable. But the very idea of this blog was that one day I'd be having adventures, getting out there and having experiences, because I wasn't quite ready for it.

I'm still at humble beginner status (and suspect I might always be) but I no longer believe in "one day you will." So that, in combination with my hopeful graduation in a month or so, leads me to conclude this blog.

Summarizing four years is too much, but I only need to look back at the last year. The incredible caving, camping, researching, hot springing, backpacking, and international traveling. Experiencing and learning, sharing with others.

All I can say is, damn. It's been good.

Thank you to everyone who made it so.

Cheers-Batgirl

Priorities

More than any other time in college, this semester has called into question my priorities.

I feel as though I've spent more time out of school than in it, this time around. Maybe it's because I am a senior and this is a natural progression. Maybe life outside is tugging at me and beckoning me out.

How could you resist?

I have chosen life experiences over a higher letter grade, this time. I might regret it when it comes to graduation, but for the last two months of school, I have been busy balancing my classes, caving, volunteering, the thesis project, and my coffee shop job. Small wonder I haven't updated this blog.

In that time I have struggled to complete assignments before taking off on a long cave trip. Apologized to friends that I haven't seen in ages when I cancel on them yet again. And I've cried in frustration when the careful balance of my schedule tips the wrong way, and I drop one of the items I'm juggling.

Except this drop.

I know that this is temporary, though. And from the limited life experience I have, I've noticed that the hardest things are usually the most worthwhile.

So much bus sickness for this...

Maybe my priorities are completely wrong. But I wonder if I'll look back and regret a day I could have spent in school instead of out finding bats, getting filthy, getting to know some fantastic people.

Mr. Myotis says "I'd rather you didn't..."

I doubt it.

--Batwoman

Mud and Guts: Caving in the Wilderness

Over a year ago, I started caving. And while I say "I", no one can start themselves into caving. You have to rely on the kindness of established cavers to train you and make sure you don't do anything too stupid at first.

This calls for the head-first approach, right?

I was overwhelmed even by small caves then, but I listened to stories and dreamed about some caves that had achieved an almost mythical status in my mind.

So when I was invited to tag along with some of the most experienced, expert cavers in the country on their caving expedition in the Bob Marshall Wilderness, I accepted even with the awareness that I was probably going to pee myself in fear. Ten days in the wilderness was about 8 days longer than I'd ever been in the Wilderness before, and easily the most remote caving I had ever done. Just hiking around on the surface you are pretty much beyond rescue, let alone in the depths of the caves themselves.

Ten days of backpacking, caving, and rafting, with a group of mostly strangers--I was well out of every comfort zone I have. When the day of departure came, my farewells to my family had almost a note of finality to them.

I had one main goal: don't cause trouble for the group.

Wilderness sign...OF NO RETURN!

There were so many things to worry about that by the time I started hiking I couldn't possibly worry about them all, so I just focused on one step, one mile at a time. I stuck by the side of an older and wiser friend who tolerated my beginner-ness with saintly patience.

For the first time in my life, I didn't need an alarm clock. My inner alarm (i.e. fright) woke me consistently at 5:30-6:00 AM each morning. Afraid of being too slow and left behind, I jumped up to get ready each morning. I saw something like 9 sunrises in a row, easily a record for me.

I learned more in these days than, I suspect, an entire semester of school. I slowly got to know each of my companions and became even more awed by the company I was keeping. These were incredibly intelligent, competent adults, miles ahead of me in every aspect of life, with PhDs and life experience to their name. They taught me to run survey instruments and gain vertical caving skills. And they never passed up an opportunity to make a dick joke.

It's so big!

Every day scared me, but the work was fun. I helped map a new section of cave where no human had ever been before. In the meantime, the others were pushing deeper in a cave that would prove to be the deepest in the US. After 3 days of caving, I took a rest day to hike around and look at plants, clean my gear and nap in my tent. It was absolutely gorgeous, of course.

I thought I wanted a day to enjoy the beauty of the wilderness. But that day, as I lay in the full sun surrounded by flowers and swatting at numerous flies, I realized I would actually rather be underground.

So I went.

The next day, I found myself at the bottom of Virgil the Turtle, one of the deepest caves in the US. I had told myself around a year ago that this was the cave I wanted to get in someday, thinking it wouldn't be for a very long time. Sitting at the bottom of Virgil was a surreal experience. I wasn't sure if it was actually happening, or if I had somehow died and was having a very realistic fantasy.

Although a very dimly lit fantasy.

Then one of my companions reached over and smeared some of the abundantly present mud on my face, breaking the spell. In the midst of wrestling to try to mud him back, I realized that this was definitely real, and there was nowhere else on--or in--the earth I'd rather be.

Plenty more mud where that came from!

At the end of the trip, we floated out on tiny, inadequate rafts on the South Fork of the Flathead. Even that part was scary (maybe the scariest!)

But it wasn't with a group of strangers anymore.

Lead the way!

 I accomplished my number one goal (well, mostly), plus a few others. And I have no regrets.

The cave suit, tragically, did not survive.

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

Field Magic

I spent the past week in a spectacular area of western Montana, the Seeley/Swan valley. Despite the slow torture of some brutal allergies and quarter-size mosquito bites, I was staggered by its incredible beauty. I feel as though I've been asleep for the past 3 years, to not notice some of the gorgeous places around me.

DIE MOSQUITOES DIE!

 It's hard to put my finger on it, exactly.

There was the pleasant surprise of early huckleberries...

The younglings hatching everywhere...

The kindness of the wonderful Anastasia, who let me use her kayak to paddle around and watch for bats, after meeting me for only a few minutes.

You're going to have to take my word for it--there are bats out there.

Becoming familiar with new faces.

 

(And old faces).

And the fact that I had a comrade, a volunteer who is willingly exposing herself to me and my crazy driving and doing so in good humor.

Yup, that's pretty magical.

-the Batwoman

In Search of Bats: Part II

It's hard to believe, but it has been a MONTH of bridge surveys. I don't know when a month has ever gone by faster.

After a month, the hardest thing about these surveys aren't the day-to-day mechanics of fieldwork, but figuring out what it means, and what sort of questions I should be investigating. I am more efficient in my surveys; I have a system, and I know what I'm looking for. I have volunteer assistants who both help me complete the surveys and keep me from going entirely crazy on my own.

My previous assistants weren't particularly good with pens.

So, what do bridge surveys really look like on the ground, and without romantic notions?

  

 Bridges come in two varieties: too big to survey, or too small. They are hundreds of feet in the air, or six inches from the surface of a gushing stream. They all look about the same from the little colored square on the GPS, so you never really know what to expect until you drive up (or sometimes, hike up) on it. They are also everywhere. You do not even realize how many bridges you drive over in a day, and probably don't care, but I have learned to care.

 I can tell when I'm driving over a bridge because I get this terrible feeling, a disturbance in the force, telling me I just missed a bridge and I've got to fight my way back to it. I am supposed to survey every bridge I encounter (let me say again, EVERY BRIDGE). Any bridge that I miss could potentially be the one to house a whole colony of bats, and I can't bear to skip even the meanest of bridges.

Start swimmin!

Once under the bridge, I have to check every crevice that could possibly house a bat. Some bridges are easy--a blank slab on the bottom, nothing more--but others have a million tiny hiding places. From the few bats I've encountered so far, I have learned the number one rule of bridge searching, Do Not Make Assumptions. Just because the research says a bat won't be in a 1-inch deep crevice 3 feet off the ground, doesn't mean you won't find one there (apparently).

Don't Make Assumptions means that I need to crawl under the nastiest, cobwebbiest bridges you can find, and stick my face directly into spiders that shouldn't exist outside a horror movie.

I've gotten soaking wet, spit cobwebs out by the dozens, rolled around in poop, fallen off precariously piled rocks, and nearly toppled into torrents of water. My volunteers have similar stories. Anyone who says this is not proper field work should go crawl in an irrigation ditch sometime and then decide. However, the bats I have found melted my heart and made me love them all over again, and I'd survey a thousand bridges for the chance to get up close with them as I have (there are adorable pictures, guys).

My workplace is also beautiful. I am unimaginably lucky to be doing this sort of work in the gorgeous Western Montana, a place that I have been taking for granted. I can camp out by beautiful mountain streams with my volunteer partner, wake up and catch the sun rising over our first bridge. I am content out in the woods, taking an evening run or reading around the fire once the work is all done. The field season is flying by, and while it can be occasionally tempting to wish it was over and all the hard decisions were already made, I try to remember to enjoy it too.

Days like these do not come around often. I have the freedom, and the company of a small but good crew, to make the most of it.

Til next time

-Batwoman

In Search of Bats: The Underside of America

Tonight I am back from my first week of bridging--or batting? Anyway, I have a few reflections after some comic misadventures.

Dash across 4 lanes of traffic without dropping 5 things-ready, set, go!!

1. Octopus arms. As in, I need several pairs. It's incredible how juggling binoculars, GPS, camera, data sheet, and potentially a pole-extended recorder can require inhuman juggling abilities. As soon as I figure out how to hold all these things at once, surveys will go much faster.

I think we need a longer pole to reach that bridge, Captain!

2. Pulling myself together. I recheck my forms about a hundred times before moving on to the next bridge--forgetting something could range from a giant inconvenience to impossible to fix. I know this already from the fieldwork I have done before, but when it is solely my own responsibility, it gains new meaning.

Also, I have learned this: don't leave any personal items where people might happen by and find it--your entire family will assume you are dead in a ditch somewhere (this lesson brought to you The Hard Way).

I know I left the truck lying around here somewhere...

3. Soliloquy. I have already started talking to myself. And my truck, Rocinante, as if it were my noble horsey steed. I don't feel any shame about it, but I wonder what I will be like in 3 months' time. Locals are probably going to start rumors about a crazy lady who haunts bridges and has sticks and poop in her hair.

And spiders.

5. Batsssss. After surveying a few dozen bridges, of which most had bat sign (read:poop) I can pretty well expect to find a ton of signs of use, but I have very little expectation when it comes to seeing bats. I will probably pee myself when I actually find a living bat.

THEY WERE HERE JUST HOURS AGO. Yes, this is a picture of poop. I AM NOT SORRY.

6. Interstate bridges are disgusting, and so are people. That's just a fact.

I don't even care if it's true, I still hate humanity.

7. Fear. I am afraid of failure, still. I am less afraid that the project will be physically impossible, but I am afraid of myself being incapable or insufficient.  Of course, I guess nothing is sure in life, on that note. But there are so many people who have supported me in this, I am terrified of failure. Perhaps abject terror will make me work harder. Who knows?

Step into my office...

So there you are--my first thoughts and some second ones. Back to batting tomorrow!

I remain--Batgirl