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...)

Project Crabby

This is only vaguely related to the Bridge Project; however, because I am staying in Montana for the summer, having a pet just became a possibility.

I have never before committed myself to any living creature that is solely my own--as it stands, my mother is still taking care of a certain cactus named Giselle for me, because my life is too unstable to support a cactus.

Giselle is a pretty lady. (Courtesy of Clint Whittle)

As pathetic as that is. Anyhow, being a wildlifer, animals are a pretty important part of my life, and recently my roommate's cat was relocated, leaving a cat-sized gap in the household.

If you think this is leading to me getting a cat, you're quite wrong, but I did choose another pet that is reserved and a little prickly.

Introducing la bella crab, Belle!

Up until about a week or two ago, I wasn't even aware that people kept crabs as pets, because I am that well informed. But my other animal-starved roommate and I looked into getting a fish and somehow stumbled onto other beginner aquarium animals.

We spent quite a while researching the needs of hermit crabs before we decided to get them, but I must admit I was sold as soon as I heard the crabs' homes referred to as "crabitats." Because that's just darn cute.

Call him Indiana.

When Winston first crawled out onto my palm, my reaction was both excitement and a little terror. Their alien legs are so hard and pointy, and the large purple pincer is a little intimidating. I've never played with a bug-eyed crustacean before--my usual pets are of Class Mammalia and a bit cuddlier.

Belle and Winston would make a great indie band!

They are actually really great pets. They seem stimulated by human attention, and will come out of their shell to see what's up when we hold them. They also poke their heads out to be misted with water. Curiosity is an admirable trait in any animal, and it's almost surprising to see in a crab. As a wildlife biologist hopeful, it seems like a good idea to learn such things. (This is where I justify getting a pet as a valuable learning experience).

Also, they seem pretty self-sustaining, which is a plus because I'm going to be on the move all summer. Speaking of which, Bridge Project is slowly progressing. 2/3 of my thesis committee is on board, and I am approved to register for Thesis 499. I've started writing my proposal, and it's all gettin real folks!

Coming soon to a bridge near you! (photo mdt.gov)

I am still a little sad about not returning to Alaska this season--not because I am not grateful for this amazing research opportunity, but because I wish I could divide myself like an amoeba and send Second Me to Alaska while First Me gets down with the bats here in Montana.

Amoebas aside, the future is looking pretty bright right now. More caving, more friends to meet and experiences to share. No complaints here.

-E.W.

*Update* Belle comes out of her shell!!

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).

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).