Get it.

I definitely should not even be taking the time to blog right now, but I suppose I will count it as "down time." It has been one of the nuttiest final exam weeks I have ever had, and I don't even have any sit-down, fill-in-the-blank finals.

However, I have real-life items that need accomplishing, which is better in some ways and worse in others. I am more motivated to complete projects that aren't just busywork, but failure means more than just a grade, too.

The potential-for-failure list included my senior thesis committee meeting on Monday. As I might have imagined, it involved sitting down with 4 established Phds who grilled me for 1.5 hours about my intended research. It was both terrifying beyond all reason, and fantastic to be sitting down discussing research and being taken seriously by such an admirable group of professionals.

Today, I lobbied as part of a student group (we call ourselves SLUG) for expanding garden space on campus. We pitched our food garden idea to the head of the university dining service--a very intelligent character who appears to pull no punches when it comes to his opinion. Our group evidently withstood his scrutiny, he declared his support for the project, aaaand. . . we still have lots of work to do, and at the very best outlook, a year before any ground is broken on such a garden.

But you know what? I find myself amazed that as a junior undergraduate at the University, I actually do have some power and voice. It is easy to get lost in this institution of ours, to feel like a cow being run through a feedlot until it's your turn to. . . well, join the workforce I guess (that metaphor didn't pan out.)

I think it would have been easy to keep my head down and quietly do my time here. But everywhere I look, I see students who are doing more than that (and much more than me). Attending the University of Montana has changed me considerably--why shouldn't I make a tiny mark on it?

Enough ponderings I suppose--back to slogging through! (The cow pies. Because. . . never mind).

-Batgirl

The sun will come out, tomooooorrroooooowwww!! Eh, whatever.

Urban Wetland

          After studying wildlife for a few seasons, I am still surprised to find that they aren't all just contained by some wilderness somewhere. There are quite a few that live in your own backyard. I routinely see more wildlife walking to class than I typically do on hikes in the wilderness (which I realize has more to do with how habituated they are, but still). 

        Despite having lived at my current place for 9 months, I recently stumbled upon a small wetland near my house for the first time. It is smack in the middle of developed residential neighborhoods, so I was not expecting much from a little duckpond.

      Bancroft Pond is small, but still bigger than I expected. Despite the path running through it, the area is obviously designed for waterfowl rather than people. In the middle of the city, it was surprising and lovely.

Ladiiiies?

      The redwing blackbirds were in an uproar, the males following the females and desperately trying to attract their attention. They obviously gave no craps about humans watching their love affairs. I sat by the pond, amused to watch their antics, when a little family popped out.

Mama eyeballing me despite my stealthy disguise.

I was reminded very much of my time in Alaska. I know it's just a Canada goose, but it is a magical thing anyway. Here in the middle of human residences, a wild little family is also eking out a living.

     On my next visit (in which I failed to bring a camera), a great blue heron peeked out from behind the reeds, and an American Coot swam around pretending it was a duck.

     Fortunately for humans, life is almost unstoppable. There are still a lot of amazing things out there worth protecting.

On a Good Day

Two weeks out from the finish of spring semester, I've been thinking about how fast college really goes. It seems like only a few months ago I was a timid freshman tiptoeing around campus, clutching my lanyard and school ID.

Two years ago, I wandered around the beautiful UM campus and realized that I wanted nothing more than to have friends to play Frisbee with on the lawn, or take silly trips on the weekends. I ached to have adventures, but they didn't mean much without people to share them.

Sunset over Fish Creek

Somehow in this time, I have managed to stumble into some truly wonderful, quirky people, whose company I do not deserve in the least. People who didn't mind braving rainy, cold, spring conditions to go camping with me, cracking jokes even when we couldn't get to our campsite because the road was snowed in.

We found a new site that was perfect anyway: along the banks of the gorgeous Fish Creek, among blooming trillium and the drumming ruffed grouse.

Use your imagination for the grouse.

Before dinner, eight of us hiked a nearby ridge to gain views of the valley. We stopped every few yards to ahhh over some new view, rock or flower. Our generation gets accused of not being in touch with the outdoors or nature, but none of us were there for any reason except that we wanted to be.

Absolute torture.

That evening, we cooked an enormous amount of food that even ten of us couldn't eat. I clumsily started a fire, and we hung out and played games in the firelight, staying miraculously dry from rain. I was foolishly happy the whole time. Hanging out with some good friends in the outdoors is pretty much all I have ever wanted from life.

Plus cool wildflowers!

I'm probably kind of simple, that way.

Bridge Project Update

I haven't talked about my senior thesis project in a while. Consider yourself lucky, because up until now it would have been crabby complaints about making meetings and writing papers.

The honeymoon phase (of I HAVE A RESEARCH PROJECT! BATS YAY!) quickly transitioned into the mire of bureaucracy involved with anything university-related. Which is not unexpected, so it's fine (although my lack of sleep and stress level might disagree. . . ) Also, I am truly enjoying the study design aspect of the project. I like the challenge of the research and planning side of it--soon I will find out if I like the boots-on-the-ground part just as much.

Maybe not quite like this.

I suspect my field surveys will come with their own frustrations and rewards and decisionmaking. For instance, I honestly need an assistant. I need help navigating to the bridge sites while I drive, and for someone to hold the spotlight while I search for bats, etc. I could ask the student chapter of the Wildlife Society for volunteers, but I quickly realized that bringing strangers out on field excursions would be a whole new can of worms--having to worry about someone else's comfort, gear, food, and general well-being. I don't mind pushing myself to miserable limits, but torturing someone else is another story.

(Aside: Holy crap, an operation the size of the Bear Crew is suddenly horrifying and unimaginable).

STAHP! THINK OF THE LIABILITY!

 So here's the plan: drive around all day long, stopping to examine bridges closely for bat sign, checking every little crevice and cranny. Repeat for 5-10 more days. Take a day or two off for caving or hiking. Repeat as necessary for the summer's duration.

Now, this may not sound too fun or exciting. But it's like a treasure hunt for bats, where either outcome (finding them or not) will be useful information. I will be driving on Forest Service land, which means I get to spend many of these days in the woods. Perhaps I'll take a short hike break for lunch, or I'll camp out in the woods and go for an evening hike after my work is done. Roving across the countryside, camping out where I like, perhaps sleeping in the bed of the truck.

Without said volunteer, it will be a lone wolf sort of operation. But. ..  it sounds a little romantic, a little lonely, a lot of fun.

Like this! I mean, except under the bridge. . .

That's more like it.

 Just a few more weeks to finalize everything. . . cross all the fingers for me!

-Batgirl

Trains and boats and whales

Spring break, California coast.

It's popular.

Not hanging with the usual crowds. . .

Risso's dolphins

Humpback whale

With plenty of beach time, of course.

Black bear coming for volleyball.

The result: one happy, broke college student.

The Great Migration

Every once in a while, you encounter something in your chosen career path that makes you go, "YES!! I do want to be this when I grow up!"

 I had just that type of moment this past weekend.A lovely group of wildlife ladies invited me to join them on a trip to Freezeout Lake, MT to observe migrating snow geese. I did not expect too much--some geese flocked together on a lake, that's cool--but I haven't seen snow geese since Alaska, so I was pretty excited.

It turns out that it isn't just a flock of snow geese that spend a few weeks at Freezeout every year. It is ALL THE BIRDS. So many geese that pictures cannot do the event justice (though I did try). Their constant honking created a cacophony across the water, a constant background noise to our viewing experience.

Sure, that's quite a few birds...

It is not only snow geese, either. Tundra swans and pintail ducks (also old friends from the Arctic) and many more species also congregate on their way north. Some of these guys could be heading straight back up to Barrow eventually! How I wish I could join them. . .

That's a decent amount of geese.

Okay, that's even more birds. . .

THOSE ARE NOT INSECTS.

You get the picture.

The geese left in small bursts at first, lighting out over the water to land in nearby fields. Then, as the giant group straight ahead of us lifted off and swarmed as they had done several times before already, something changed. A giant mass of them lifted all at once and roared over our heads. I gave up trying to capture the moment, overwhelmed.

In surrounding fields, we spotted bald eagles, golden eagles, and numerous rough-legged hawks. We were peering at a short, magical window in which this place comes vibrantly alive. And it was truly awesome.

Small group landing in a nearby field.

As we drove away, we were all talking animatedly about what we'd just seen, excited about this amazing world we live in, and about being biologists someday.

It is a marvel. I have a hard time imagining myself doing anything else.

--Ellen

There and back, and there again

This past weekend, I had a unique opportunity to revisit one of my very first caves, as I previously wrote about. This time, I was with real professionals. I was curious how this cave experience would match up. I remembered Ophir as being an exhausting, incredibly difficult trip--and last time we were able to drive within 3/4 mile of the cave entrance!

This, except almost completely buried in snow.

So here's the thing. I was glad for the opportunity to go on this trip, and it was fun. But it was also humbling. Sometimes I get so caught up in my pursuit of adventures that I forget the true goal is the camaraderie that goes with it.

Part of this is my desire to prove that I am not weak and that I don't need help. Like the stereotypical short man (sorry guys), I am compensating for something. I feel like I have to be able to do everything easily and without asking for help, or else I'm failing. What I don't realize is that my refusal of any help or kindness that is offered to me just comes off, well, assholey.

The truth is that I am 20 years old and new--so very new. I have this idea in my head that I should be experienced and wise by now, but what the heck? As I mentioned in a previous post, I'm pretty new to all this stuff. I didn't start backpacking or even seriously hiking until college. I've only been at this stuff for about two years, but I already think that I ought to know best.

This caribou calf has more worldly experience than me.

Ophir--my second wild cave and first technical, vertical cave--was less than a year ago. It was a very different experience this time, but I still have an incredible amount to learn. If I close myself off to learning new things I will be missing out.

So, I promise to open my ears to the people around me. But what is even harder is admitting my ignorance. I know more now than I did a few years ago, but that sure as heck is not saying much.

I'm all ears!

Every new adventure I take, I am scared, to a certain degree. This trip to Ophir with real cavers scared me so much, I nearly wished that I would get sick and have a reason to stay home. I'm not brave. I'm often motivated by pure cowardice.

While I'm at it, I might as well confess that I yelped when a bat flew toward my face. Big bad biologist that I am.

I am young, dumb, and I am going to try to do better.

Kirk out.