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

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.

For the Birds

A day in the Arctic: wake up, stumble into the kitchen and grab some sort of breakfast. Pump myself up with enough coffee to wake an elephant. Then it's wader time. I grimace as I pull on my boots over my blisters, knowing I'll be feeling those later. I double check that I'm carrying the three precious items: GPS, radio, and binoculars. Pack a lunch and it's go time.

Where me and 11 other people live.

Tundra walking is in a category all its own. The elevation is absolutely nil--the words "ridge" and "hill" can only be used in quotation marks here. But the ground is so soggy and mucky, it's comparable to walking on a sandy beach all day long. The mud sucks your feet down, and if you pause to glass a bird for a few seconds, you might just find yourself stuck in place.

It's too late for this goose, who is tragically stuck to the ground.

It's a treasure hunt, and you never know what you'll find when you step off the road into the tundra. A caribou carcass, a fox den, a tiny adorable shorebird nest, a shotgun, maybe a random porn DVD. You never know.

Yes, that is a pinky finger.

But what we are really here for is the ducks. Specifically the eider ducks. I came here to Barrow knowing very little about them, but over the last three weeks I have fallen in love.

Love.

I have been swept off my feet by these animals. It has been a lot of fun hanging out with my crew--playing card games, bombing around the beach on ATVs, polar plunging into the Arctic and otherwise enjoying ourselves. But it's all for these guys, and we wouldn't be here without them.

And they are so worth it.


From the top of the world,

Ellen Marie