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).

Dark Angel

"Val shifted her all her weight onto her left big toe, straining to reach upward with her right hand. Her chalky fingers groped the slick shelf above her head, failing to gain purchase. The muscle in her left calf quivered.

Val let out a soft curse, withdrawing back down to rest her weight on a lower hold. As much as she hated to admit it, fear fluttered in her abdomen. She risked a look down below her. She had committed to free soloing this route—no ropes, no partner, no backup. A fall here would not just be costly—it would be deadly."

             . . .

The rest of the story is available here:  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dark-angel

Yes, sorry, it is 99 cents; I was not able to make it free. If you have a spare .99, check it out! I want to dip my toe into adventure writing (maybe so that someday when I have worthwhile adventures I can write about them).

Wonder Women

*This may rapidly devolve into a rant. Fair warning.

I am a hiker. I am a skier, and a caver, and every so often a mountain climber. I am happiest when I am sweaty, filthy, and in some kind of danger. I am happiest when I am pushing my own personal limits.And, yeah, I'm a girl.

I rarely thought about gender differences as a kid. My brother and I played with each other's boy or girl-oriented toys equally, and my parents didn't try to change that.

My dad took me fishing, taught me to ride horses, and dragged me into skiing. As my original adventure buddy, he challenged me to ski races down the mountain at breakneck speed. He always encouraged me to get out and do what I wanted, and never once told me that my interests were unusual for a girl.

In short, I wasn't praised for being a girl who enjoyed boyish activities. I was just one of his kids who happened to enjoy the same things he did. I was confused when I was called a tomboy at school--I didn't think I was acting like a boy. I was just being myself.

I bring this up because of several recent reminders. First, attending the Banff Mountain Film Festival (www.banffcentre.ca). Second, reading a book by Verna van Schaik, who holds the record for deepest dive by a woman.

Banff is fantastic, and I love going each year and getting inspired by the adventurers on screen--real people doing unreal things.

 I am less inspired by the lack of women. Even this year, the only documentary with women even featured in it was a film completely focused on the idea that lady climbers are doing things that are unusual for women.

Banff was in the back of my mind even as I read Schaik's book, available for purchase on Kindle, called Fatally Flawed: The Quest to be Deepest. Anyone who believes that gender bias no longer exists should read her account of setting a world record. Her writing isn't perfect, but it is honest.

Schaik writes, "I spent years trying to imitate [men], to be become a man and so be accepted. I gave up my personal strengths so that I could cultivate the strengths that the men around me needed to see. . . What I have come to realize is that I am not a man." (166)

Her message resonates with me in a way I did not expect. Even though I consider myself an advocate of equality, I am always trying to prove I can be just as good, that I am not slowed down by being a woman. Any reminder of my differences, like trying to hike fast even with agonizing cramps, pisses me off.

It would do me good to remember that I am not unusual. I am not looking for attention from guys. I am not a tomboy. I do not pursue male-dominated activities; I pursue my activities.

Anyone who believes social equality has been achieved should also hang out with some teen girls.

It is painful for me to see girls like those in the cave club curse their own bodies for not being thin enough. They hate themselves for not living up to some bullshit ideal of what fit, adventurous young women ought to look like. It is painful to realize that I have the same insecurities.

I am grateful to have met these girls and shared these experiences. I felt the euphoria after making it through a tight passage called the Seizure Squeeze. We dared to free climb down passages that grown men would not attempt.  For hours on end, we examined poop in close detail.

In short, it is completely unsexy--awesomely so.

Giving birth to herself.

We aren't trying to be anything. This is what we are.

The Underground

Crawling through cramped, slimy  passageways is far from the usual idea of a sexy outdoor weekend. It is not so glamorous as rock climbing or skiing, and most certainly is not as popular as hiking. There are no caving movies equivalent to ski porn to be found (and if there are, I don't want to know about them.)

Note: this is not cave porn.

Caving is a dirty, dark, and gritty activity. It requires that you have an ability to laugh at yourself, get covered in poop, and enjoy lots and lots of innuendos about virgin cave. You should be willing to hike long distances with a heavy pack just to lower into a dark hole and see what you can find.

You can find plenty of dead things, for instance.

Caving seems to draw in people who are somewhat on the strange side. This might be because the average person would look at that mysterious dark slot pictured above and understandably say "Hell, no."

As a (sort of) chaperone for a caving club, I not only purposely seek out these dark crevices, but rig up a group of teens to go in as well.

Like any other high school kids, they are goofy, giggly, and terrible at following directions. 

Seen here: actually following directions.

The more I get to know them, the more amazed I am by their ability to laugh and be silly. They all have a story with a little heartbreak. Some have lost one parent, or both. Some were abandoned by their parents. Each of them has more than enough reason to be broken individuals, but by looking at them you wouldn't have any idea.They are smart and funny and can quote every line from Star Wars (which gives me hope for the future).

So what kind of people are drawn into caving?

We aren't polished individuals, and certainly won't be posing for any outdoor magazines anytime soon.

You won't be strolling around a cave in designer outdoor clothes, sporting a lovely tan and a light sprinkle of perspiration. You will be hands and knees in the mud, and face first in the guano.

 You will unite with your fellow muddy cavers in fast friendship. Driving away from the cave, one of the girls sat up and said "Hey, Dreads" (for that is my very original nickname),"I like you a lot."

And deep down in my cold heart. . . I like them too.

If you tell people you've been caving over the weekend, you will get looks of slight confusion. A lot of them don't know that caving is a thing, or don't understand why anyone would want to do it.

I look at these kids and sort of wonder myself. What brought them here to a cave club, instead of basketball or cheerleading? It is far from the usual teenager's weekend commitment.

The caver's Slip n Slide

The answer, I suspect, might be mutual strangeness.

A caver desires to see something that few other humans have laid eyes on. To climb around in nature's most fantastic jungle gyms and become completely lost in an alien world. To climb out afterward and be absolutely stunned by ordinary colors and sounds we take for granted above ground.

Also: the desire to learn to levitate

 We are silly goof offs like anyone else, but we're a little weirder than most.

Just the way I like it.

Caving with the Stars

When you are jumping into something new, it's often hard to figure out just where to start. Even with outdoor adventure hobbies, it is a little intimidating--everyone seems to know what they're doing already. Why should they want to put up with some newbie?

After my last caving failure I figured it was time to draw on the help of caving experts. I got in touch with some Montana cavers who turned out to be friendly and welcoming. Go figure--as it turns out, sending a few inquiring emails around never hurts anything. Actually, that's the only way I've gotten anywhere in life so far. Sounding somewhat literate and reasonable in an email should be a college class, because I'm pretty sure it's more useful than a degree.

As a result, I back from my job in Alaska no more than eight hours before I was out the door with my caving bag packed, ready for an ice cave in the Pryor Mountains.

Getting personal with some paintbrush in the Pryors.

 I learned a few things from this trip. One: the best possible greeting from a stranger at 6 AM is an offer of sizzling bacon and eggs. Second, cavers are an established but small circle of people who all seem to know one another, so try not to screw up too badly.

 Like any other tight group, they are friendly but cautious of outsiders who don't understand. Some well-known people were there leading the caving party. They were legitimate cave explorers and mappers, whose names I had seen before in my cave research. And they kindly but firmly tossed me and another newbie friend I'd convinced to come along ("it'll be fun! no pressure!") into the lion's den.

Where my friend was promptly eaten.

I was a bit nervous about this trip being like a test, and I was right. We were led through a jumble of tight squeezes, short climbs and shallow drops--a cave obstacle course. At various points they asked us which direction the way back was--fortunately, it seemed more a pass or fail exam, and was not graded by percentage (whoops).

The cave was a great start to learning the art of the cave and the caver.

And looking at some cool shit.

Having your future depend on a first impression is unnerving.  I can't tell you that my performance was anything spectacular (it wasn't), but maybe my eagerness showed through anyway, because one of the leaders of the trip (I'll call him The Hammer) invited me to future caves in the fall.

Since then, I've been on a second trip with the Hammer, this time a training trip for a high school club learning to ascend vertical caves.  Everyone was welcoming, and seemed like my kinda people.

Alright--maybe there is room for one more new caver.

The takeaway from all this, I suppose: get out there and get to know people. Try something. It might not work out--it could be an embarrassing failure.

Into the Hole of Shame!

  But even if it is, at least you will have a story to tell (or not tell, at your own discretion. . . )

If you want to get involved with something, shoot an email somewhere. Nothing might happen, or something might.

Keep on cavin' on.

With Montana it is love. . .

If I ever forget why I love Montana (God forbid), haul me up and take me on a backpacking trip. There is something about traveling country by foot, and nothing else seems to be able to replace it. It is looking down at a dizzying drop, knowing it was your feet and legs, attached to your rapidly beating heart, that took you up there and nothing else.

Red Gap Pass, Glacier Nat'l Park

I try not to romanticize the outdoors in my own mind too much (though it is probably inevitable). The mountain does not give a shit that we are walking on it. The cold stream doesn't care. We can certainly impact these places, whether positively or negatively, but the earth does not care about our little ant scurries.

What we take away from it, however, is invaluable. I'm not really sure why, but as much as the mountains and rivers and lakes do not need people, people need them.

Preferably as grueling as possible.

 I probably could have stayed home all weekend and worked on chores, homework, and other life demands, and still not have finished everything. Instead I fled responsibility and escaped into the mountains--the Mission Mountains Wilderness, where I took a short backpack trip with friends. After spending an enjoyable night by a high alpine lake I still hadn't escaped my restlessness. That need had not been quite fulfilled.

Behold, Daughter of the Sun

The peak featured in the center of this photo sits solidly at 8,777 feet--not enormous, but an impressive mountain with a lovely name. The sight of it had teased us all the way up on our hike. Myself and an intrepid partner (or leader, more accurately. . . ) parted from the rest of the group to tackle the summit (see previous photo of ridiculous scree scramble).

Without a map or knowledge of a good route, we eyed a possible line up to the ridge and headed up. We hiked over a boulder field, which turned into near-vertical loose talus, and finally hit giant stacked boulders to scramble up and over all the way to the top. The route required Class 3/4 scrambling, according to the people at summitpost.org, but I wasn't expecting quite that much sheer vertical climbing. *After some research, turns out I accidentally did Class 5 (roped climbing) free solo on this trip. Don't try it at home, kids. . . *

I wish I had taken more photos to prove how epic the climb was, but on the other hand, I was pretty focused on not dying. The climbing was easy compared to the rock climbing I've done before-- except I was wearing hiking boots, a pack, and had absolutely no rope protection. Even Intrepid Partner, not known for his cautiousness, advised me to make sure every hand and foothold was 100% before I tried it.

"Looks solid."

Several times we attained false summits only to throw our hands up frustrated, realizing we had yet another ledge with hundreds of feet of exposure to climb. Returning the way we came seemed impossible (and in fact probably was). We had gone too far to turn back now. Somehow, inching across ledges and climbing up narrow slots, we made our way upward. Stepping onto the summit was a ridiculously joyous, heady moment.

At the summit, the rest of the world seems to stop. Human things look very small and inconsequential from up there. They look the way they ought to, maybe.

I was concerned about coming back down, knowing that downclimbing is much more dangerous. I took my time edging carefully back down the mountain, taking a slightly different route with looser rock but less exposure. I hopped down from solid hold to solid hold, sending showers of loose rock plummeting hundreds of feet to the ground. Intrepid Partner sailed down with a grin on his face, skiing (skreeing?) over the rocks in his boots. 

There wasn't much time for celebration at arriving on solid ground again. At the bottom, we shouldered our suddenly heavy overnight packs and continued on 6 miles down to the trailhead. Tired, but totally content (and in my case, happy to have some solid earth under my feet).

Why do humans seek adventure, and inherent with it, risk?

Sometimes, just because we can.

Just too good to pass up.