Into the Mines!

         The Cave Club has taken me to some interesting places, but this one was truly unique. It was a cave that has not been open to the public in a decade, and getting inside is a feat worthy of Indiana Jones.

We have found the den of the redneck zombies!

     This cave boasted the sketchiest entrance I have ever encountered. The actual cave is accessible only through an old mine adit sunk in the side of a mountain. To get there, we were escorted up the steep, crumbling road on UTVs (while alarming, I might be spoiled for hiking to caves now). When the old mining road became impassable, we walked the remaining few hundred feet to the gate.

With drawings of horrible death like that, who could resist?

 The first group waited outside while the rest of the kids could be shuttled up. It began to rain, driving us to wait inside the entry chamber (into the mines!!) despite the potential zombie attack.

We were warned that the adit was the most dangerous part of our journey, but we would be fine as long as we didn't touch the walls and potentially collapse them, or breathe too much of the funky fungus. Well if that's all...

I SAID NO BREATHING.

We hustled through the tunnel, only sacrificing one or two high school students to appease the fungus. One by one we climbed a thin, slippery metal ladder and poked our heads up into the actual cave. It was time to get to work surveying, though it became apparent that this was going to be a solid task.

The job of the cave club was to catalog the formations within the cave and assess their damage by humans trampling or touching them. The first few rooms we assessed were totally wrecked, and by the time we were done with them, our clothing was too.

All that remains of the last cave photographer...

Everything was coated in several inches of thick, sucking mud. If I stood in one spot to write down notes for too long, my boots threatened to become permanent fixtures. Movement was slow and awkward. My partner and I spent a solid five hours surveying speleothems in four main upper rooms. There were some interesting--and even some fantastic--formations, but overall it wasn't extensively decorated (at least, anymore).

I can't tell if they're giving me the peace sign or flipping me off.

Afternoon had slipped into evening, although I was in a cave trance and didn't think more than an hour or two had gone by. We had one final large hall to survey, and it was the most difficult. The path down was guarded by a narrow crawl lined with perfectly breakable stalactites. I slithered down on my back, desperately avoiding the stalactites hovering centimeters above my face. It was like playing a grueling game of Operation with your whole body.

Four of us finally emerged on the other side, guiding each other through with helpful shouts of "Keep your butt down!" The rest of the cave club party started back out of the cave. For us, just a quick survey to do then--

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven--wait, let me start over--

Or maybe not.

It was some of the most intense cave decoration I've personally seen. My survey notes fizzled into "thousands of stalactites & helictites, size range. . . oh crap" or something similar. I tried to take pictures, but I knew even then that none of them could convey the awe of the towering speleothems and intricate curling helictites that I was seeing. My teenage companions were similarly stunned, although my partner steadfastly attempted to continue recording estimates of what she was seeing. The fearless club leader pressed on ahead to keep us moving, where surely we would have stood frozen for a long time.

There was more cave to see--one more room that would have had impeccable formations, and was supposedly even better than this hall. But our eyes were worn out by the beauty, and were still reeling from our notetaking attempt. We couldn't do it justice today, and anything we did would just impact the cave further. Our leader called it a day, and we began the reverse journey.

So we leaped into an old mining cart and--oh wait, that's Indiana Jones again...

The door sealed shut behind us, closing off the cave once again to the world. It exists in silence except for the drip of water, slowly growing its garden of wonders. 

People should see it again someday--but how they see it needs to be managed (which is where the Club comes in). In the meantime, we have the pictures, we left plenty of muddy footprints, and we killed some serious cave time.

--The Cave Troll

 

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