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

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: 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

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...)

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

Ready, Set. . .

A year ago, I learned that I was accepted for a position in Alaska working with waterfowl. I was excited and scared at the prospect of traveling so far, and living in unfamiliar territory.

In the land of tiny fish. Or really big people.

 This year, I won't be leaving Montana. But I am probably equally as nervous! I am not working as a technician on a field project. I will be my own technician for my senior thesis project (finally a sure thing as of today, though I've been tearing my hair out about it).

My postings on this blog are scattered at best, so I propose to update this blog as the project goes on. It will be a good place to check in, and may be useful for review later as I inevitably make mistakes.

I am a little scared. But I am going to be surveying bridges to determine where and what kind of bats are roosting there in the summertime. Since this is something we really don't know, I'm very curious what the results will be. Also, as a budding scientist, I am going to have to practice real, legitimate science that will be scrutinized by other scientists. (Ack!)

I turned down a very decent, well-paid job for this. . . so I might be crazy. But I'm doing it. Crashing into wildlife biology head first.

Let's do this!

Staying in Montana is such a painful prospect.

Urgggh choices

It's that time of year again! That period of midwinter restlessness and desire to see the days grow longer again. When you've exhausted the snowshoeing/skiing options (or the snow just doesn't want to cooperate).

Ha. I wish.

For us wildlifers, it's also job season. I am applying and interviewing for summer seasonal work, which means my head is already way past spring semester. Considering I have 18 credits' worth of class to get through, that could be problematic.

Summatime!! And animals yeah!!

Last year, I already knew by February that I was going to be spending my summer in Barrow. It provided a welcome incentive to get through the drudge of spring semester. However, last year the choice was simple. I received few offers (due to it being a terrible, terrible year for federally funded projects), and of those offers, Alaska was the only real option because of timing conflict. (Note: I had zero problem with this).

This year the game has changed. There are actual projects to choose from. I also have an aim--if possible, I'd like to start working with bats. I've never before had an interest in a particular species, so I am excited to see where it goes.

It probably goes into some large, dark hole.

Someday it's going to exasperate me, but for now, I am enjoying the fleeting nature of wildlife work. I don't want to be trapped in one place or one career. I want to travel around, see new places and meet new people every few months. I love Missoula--this place has become my home while going to school here.

Beautiful from so many angles.

After just three years, Missoula is already full of memories. I complain about college a lot because there are a lot of problems with the system, but it has been very good for me. I came to UM a nervous, naive 18-year-old. I kept my head down through public school in conservative, rural Montana. I was so busy trying not to stand out that I never questioned what I actually liked.

Except motorcycles. Motorcycles always win.

Three years ago, I'd never been rock climbing, kayaking, caving, or even backpacking. I hadn't hiked hundreds of miles in the backcountry or swam in icy mountain lakes, or run in Arctic races.

Or played with baby caribou in the mist.

 It's amazing how easily I can take all that for granted. I get fed up with long days of school and work and little sleep, but the truth is, it's already been worth it. I am incredibly graced with everything I have found here. Kind, welcoming people, unique experiences, maybe even a tiny bit of self-confidence that I didn't have before.

In other words, I need to suck it up, quit complaining, and get ready to work my ass off this semester. Summer will come, and hopefully some sort of paid employment with it.

Stay weird, lovely Missoula.

--Ellen Marie

Going Batty

While I have talked about caving here, I have not mentioned the main characters:

Well hello, handsome.

I never quite understood why some people are creeped out by bats on the same level as spiders. They aren't lurking under your couch cushions waiting to bite you. They are minding their own business, scooping up pesky insects or pollinating your crops. In short, they have way better things to do than hang out and give you rabies.

 I have always thought these leathery, furry creatures were pretty neat, but didn't give them much more thought until recently. Just by existing as the only flying mammal, bats are entirely unique.

So are their Spiderman skills.

Insect-eating bats like Little Brown Bats save the U.S. agriculture industry as much as 3 billion dollars per year in pest control. And we've lost a million of them in the Northeast.

A million. Most people have heard of White Nose Syndrome, but they probably don't know the extent of the damage. What does it matter if fewer bats are hanging around, getting ready to tangle themselves in people's hair? Obviously, it matters a lot. Bats provide all kinds of interesting benefits, but would be terribly sad if they disappeared, if only because the world would have a little less magic without them.

Think of all the tiny corpses. Think of them!

Besides White Nose Syndrome, bats are also losing ground due to habitat loss and the impact of wind farms (which they seem oddly drawn to).

They are not all the same, either. The variety of bats make up a quarter of the world's total number of mammal species. And yet it is easy to not think about them. They belong to the darkness, are quiet, and do not draw too much attention to themselves. But heck, if we can support a superhero who dresses up like one, we can support the real thing too.

 (

               Even if you are wearing hockey pads. (comicvine.com)

I do not know precisely what direction I would like to go in the wildlife field. But I am drawn to this particular critter. I want to do something for them--I want to be in a position to help them. I never imagined wanting to run my own project--and grad school was never even remotely tempting--but now I am beginning to see.

They are an exciting species to study. Tracking down bats requires you to tour some interesting places, since they roost in trees, bridges, mines, caves, etc.

Just chillin in this hole!

There isn't always a clear reward in such work. But bats are an important part of our ecosystems, and they make give life to otherwise empty passages. Caves are shelters for some crazy awesome animals. They are homes.

I am napping. Do not disturb me.

Get to know bats, and don't be afraid of them.* Maybe buy some cool bat-related stuff and help them out. Hang upside down for a while, until people start giving you weird looks. Who doesn't think that hibernating through winter sounds awesome?

And me, I'll get back to studying. I have a lot to learn.



*(Like any wild animal, of course, don't go around handling them).