Anyone who worked on my crew the first year knows and hates German Creek. This canyon almost killed us several times. Every time we entered, we’d try a different (hopefully easier) way. We tried the north side, but it was too steep and rocky, and the downed trees were so big I looked like a dying floppy fish every time I crawled over them. The south side was a combination of sheer rock interspersed with what we referred to as “Willow Hell”—a tangle of willow too thick to break through and guaranteed to dump a few hundred ticks on your back. No, the easiest way to get into German Creek was straight up a steep sandy slope that literally fell out from underneath you every time you took a step. This was exhausting, especially with a 50lb pack on your back. We went to that creek at least thirty times one summer (sometimes twice in one day.) We suffered from heat exhaustion and massive allergy attacks. We also took some serious falls, but miraculously, no one on my crew got hurt.
The second year, we changed our study design and didn’t have to hike into German Creek until the end of the season. At this point it was just me and my lead tech. We knew what we were in for, so we bit the bullet and went in.
“Not too bad,” each of us said on the way out.
We spoke too soon.
I took a step and felt the hillside fall out from underneath me like an avalanche of dirt. Somehow, I managed to dive forward and grab the willows in front of me as my body fell downward. After all was said and done, I was left hanging from two vines with no footing underneath me, screaming at the top of my lungs, “I hate F*@! German Creek!”
Monday, December 27, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
My Mother Wishes I Was A Botanist
Although she’s proud of what I do, I know my mother wishes I studied something smaller and a lot less carnivorous. Like bunnies. Or apples. While working, I've often found myself shaking my head, glad my mother wasn't around to see something. One particular day stands out to me because it was the first time I thought it on this project.
I was crashing through a tangle of bushes taller than me. The only time I could see over them was when I stood on a fallen tree or stump. I didn’t think much of it when I heard the brush crack somewhere down the slope and to my left. I figured I’d spooked something. But as the cracking got louder and closer, I thought maybe I should check things out.
Pretty sure it was a deer, I jumped on a stump and stood on my tiptoes. When I caught the undulating movement of a dark brown back, I knew it wasn’t a deer. It was a bear. And it was heading straight for me.
So what did I do?
I yelled, “Hey bear!” and stuck my arms in the air so it could see me. Instantly, the crashing noise stopped. A second later, two brown ears popped up. They weren’t more than ten feet away. Then they disappeared and the crashing started again. But this time in the opposite direction.
I sighed, yelled down the hill at my techs to let them know a bear might be coming their way, then smiled. That was the first bear I’d seen that year. Granted I only saw his back and his ears, but it was pretty cool. Then I laughed, and thought, “Thank God my mother wasn’t here to see this.”
I was crashing through a tangle of bushes taller than me. The only time I could see over them was when I stood on a fallen tree or stump. I didn’t think much of it when I heard the brush crack somewhere down the slope and to my left. I figured I’d spooked something. But as the cracking got louder and closer, I thought maybe I should check things out.
Pretty sure it was a deer, I jumped on a stump and stood on my tiptoes. When I caught the undulating movement of a dark brown back, I knew it wasn’t a deer. It was a bear. And it was heading straight for me.
So what did I do?
I yelled, “Hey bear!” and stuck my arms in the air so it could see me. Instantly, the crashing noise stopped. A second later, two brown ears popped up. They weren’t more than ten feet away. Then they disappeared and the crashing started again. But this time in the opposite direction.
I sighed, yelled down the hill at my techs to let them know a bear might be coming their way, then smiled. That was the first bear I’d seen that year. Granted I only saw his back and his ears, but it was pretty cool. Then I laughed, and thought, “Thank God my mother wasn’t here to see this.”
Monday, December 13, 2010
A Colossal Waste of Time, Breath, Energy...You Name it.
The night I encountered the baby deer, I was searching for my missing techs. It had been dark for a couple hours and still no sign of them at camp. Because no one cares about us, but us, we didn’t get radios. We got a buddy system. Because they were not working together, but neither had shown up, I was a little concerned.
As I drove toward their assigned areas, I wondered which way I should go when I got to the intersection. Right would take me toward one tech. Left toward the other. Fortunately, my lead tech was a bright boy. He’d left a camp chair at the intersection with a note attached, letting me know I needed to go left. Left would not normally take me toward him. It would’ve taken me toward my idiot tech—the one who tried to drive my truck off the side of a cliff—which told me my lead tech had somehow crossed paths with the idiot.
I drove up the side of the mountain until I ran into both guys and their trucks. One truck had a flat. And not just a flat. A stick, about an inch and a half in diameter, had speared the tire. I’ve driven a lot on back roads and I know what it takes to do something like this.
STUPID ASS DRIVING!!!!
Maintaining my cool, I asked what had happened.
Idiot Tech, who shall now be referred to as IT, said, “I got a flat.”
“Uh huh,” I said while thinking, duh. “How’d it happen?”
“I don’t know.”
You were driving like an idiot, I thought, but said, “Why didn’t you change it?”
“The truck doesn’t have a spare.”
Okay, not his fault. The state agency that leased us the truck should’ve supplied a spare, but they didn’t. They didn’t give a shit about us. I should’ve checked to make sure it had one, but I didn’t. My bad.
“How much work did you get done?” I asked.
My lead tech cringed and shook his head. Apparently, he too had asked, and knew I wouldn’t like the answer.
“Nothing,” said IT then quickly explained why. “I got the flat first thing this morning. I didn’t want to be stranded so I ran down the mountain and waited at the intersection for Lead Tech to come by.”
“I see,” I said, blinking rapidly while screaming in my head: You truly are an idiot! You’re not more than 500 feet from the station at the top of the mountain. You could’ve checked and set it. Then you could’ve grabbed everything you needed for the day, hiked down the mountain to the three other stations that are within an easy walking distance, and you still would’ve have had plenty of time to sit at the intersection and wait. If you were concerned about getting left behind, you could’ve posted a sign. It worked for the lead tech! Worst case, we would’ve come looking for you…like I just did! But no!! Instead, you chose to sit on your ass at an intersection for twelve, yes TWELVE hours!!!!!!!!!!
As I drove toward their assigned areas, I wondered which way I should go when I got to the intersection. Right would take me toward one tech. Left toward the other. Fortunately, my lead tech was a bright boy. He’d left a camp chair at the intersection with a note attached, letting me know I needed to go left. Left would not normally take me toward him. It would’ve taken me toward my idiot tech—the one who tried to drive my truck off the side of a cliff—which told me my lead tech had somehow crossed paths with the idiot.
I drove up the side of the mountain until I ran into both guys and their trucks. One truck had a flat. And not just a flat. A stick, about an inch and a half in diameter, had speared the tire. I’ve driven a lot on back roads and I know what it takes to do something like this.
STUPID ASS DRIVING!!!!
Maintaining my cool, I asked what had happened.
Idiot Tech, who shall now be referred to as IT, said, “I got a flat.”
“Uh huh,” I said while thinking, duh. “How’d it happen?”
“I don’t know.”
You were driving like an idiot, I thought, but said, “Why didn’t you change it?”
“The truck doesn’t have a spare.”
Okay, not his fault. The state agency that leased us the truck should’ve supplied a spare, but they didn’t. They didn’t give a shit about us. I should’ve checked to make sure it had one, but I didn’t. My bad.
“How much work did you get done?” I asked.
My lead tech cringed and shook his head. Apparently, he too had asked, and knew I wouldn’t like the answer.
“Nothing,” said IT then quickly explained why. “I got the flat first thing this morning. I didn’t want to be stranded so I ran down the mountain and waited at the intersection for Lead Tech to come by.”
“I see,” I said, blinking rapidly while screaming in my head: You truly are an idiot! You’re not more than 500 feet from the station at the top of the mountain. You could’ve checked and set it. Then you could’ve grabbed everything you needed for the day, hiked down the mountain to the three other stations that are within an easy walking distance, and you still would’ve have had plenty of time to sit at the intersection and wait. If you were concerned about getting left behind, you could’ve posted a sign. It worked for the lead tech! Worst case, we would’ve come looking for you…like I just did! But no!! Instead, you chose to sit on your ass at an intersection for twelve, yes TWELVE hours!!!!!!!!!!
Monday, December 6, 2010
Deer in the Headlights:
In the world of young ungulates, there are “Hiders” and “Followers.” Hiders lie down and hide while mom forages. Followers tag along. Too often when someone happens along a baby deer alone in the woods, they bring it to a vet or wildlife rehabilitator, thinking the poor fawn has been abandoned. In reality, they just abducted the baby deer. Poor deer.
One night, while driving down a single lane gravel road bordered by a large river on one side and a steep rocky incline on the other, I happened along a momma and her fawn. The fawn was old enough to follow mom at this point and was doing just that. When I came up behind them, momma deer ran for a bit then darted up the hillside, but it was too steep for baby. So it ran, and ran, and ran and ran. Not wanting to stress the poor thing out anymore, I stopped my truck, turned my headlight off and waited for it to go up the bank. After a couple minutes, I turned on my headlights. And there was deer staring right at me. So I turned them off again and waited...again. This time when I turned my lights back on, the deer had curled into a ball in the middle of the road. It was “hiding.” Only it wasn’t. It was in the middle of the road.
I honked my horn. No response. I honked again. Nothing. I got out of the truck and yelled at it. It was still hiding. I walked toward it, shouting and waving my arms about. Still nothing. Finally, I grabbed it around the waist and shook it until it bawled and its little legs wiggled with the need to escape. Then I put it on the ground, slapped it on the ass and yelled, “Natural Selection is not going to be kind to you!”
One night, while driving down a single lane gravel road bordered by a large river on one side and a steep rocky incline on the other, I happened along a momma and her fawn. The fawn was old enough to follow mom at this point and was doing just that. When I came up behind them, momma deer ran for a bit then darted up the hillside, but it was too steep for baby. So it ran, and ran, and ran and ran. Not wanting to stress the poor thing out anymore, I stopped my truck, turned my headlight off and waited for it to go up the bank. After a couple minutes, I turned on my headlights. And there was deer staring right at me. So I turned them off again and waited...again. This time when I turned my lights back on, the deer had curled into a ball in the middle of the road. It was “hiding.” Only it wasn’t. It was in the middle of the road.
I honked my horn. No response. I honked again. Nothing. I got out of the truck and yelled at it. It was still hiding. I walked toward it, shouting and waving my arms about. Still nothing. Finally, I grabbed it around the waist and shook it until it bawled and its little legs wiggled with the need to escape. Then I put it on the ground, slapped it on the ass and yelled, “Natural Selection is not going to be kind to you!”
Monday, November 29, 2010
People never cease to amaze me:
One of my crew members got a truck stuck in the snow, almost toppling it over the edge of the road into a ravine. He did this by being a complete idiot. I don’t think he’d ever driven in the snow before and thought it would be fun to try. The only thing stopping the truck from rolling down the hill was a two-inch sapling and the fact that the truck was buried in the snow.
We dug for I don’t know how long, trying to get the rig unstuck, but it was no use. By this time, it was about eight in the evening, and did I mention…we were in the middle of nowhere. The closest town was fifteen miles down a twisting mountain road, the population of which was fifty.
To our amazement one of those fifty people was on the road with a Boy Scout troop (There were two kids in the troop). Taking pity on us, he said he’d drop off the boys then go home to get his big diesel truck to pull us out.
Yeah, right.
Well, he proved me wrong. True to his word, he returned with his truck…and his poor wife and baby. And somehow, after I don’t know how long, he managed to pull our truck free.
By the time all was said and done, it was close to midnight. We were tired and cold and had almost no idea where we were. But we were very thankful. As if he and his family hadn’t done enough, they asked if we had a place to camp. When we said no, they took us to their home, allowed us to camp in their yard and use their bathroom. This family lived in a one room house and went completely out of their way to help us. I don’t remember their names, but I will always remember their kindness.
And I will never forget the idiot who almost drove my truck off the side of a cliff.
We dug for I don’t know how long, trying to get the rig unstuck, but it was no use. By this time, it was about eight in the evening, and did I mention…we were in the middle of nowhere. The closest town was fifteen miles down a twisting mountain road, the population of which was fifty.
To our amazement one of those fifty people was on the road with a Boy Scout troop (There were two kids in the troop). Taking pity on us, he said he’d drop off the boys then go home to get his big diesel truck to pull us out.
Yeah, right.
Well, he proved me wrong. True to his word, he returned with his truck…and his poor wife and baby. And somehow, after I don’t know how long, he managed to pull our truck free.
By the time all was said and done, it was close to midnight. We were tired and cold and had almost no idea where we were. But we were very thankful. As if he and his family hadn’t done enough, they asked if we had a place to camp. When we said no, they took us to their home, allowed us to camp in their yard and use their bathroom. This family lived in a one room house and went completely out of their way to help us. I don’t remember their names, but I will always remember their kindness.
And I will never forget the idiot who almost drove my truck off the side of a cliff.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Another Driving Story:
Last summer, my lead tech, two state employees and I met at a four way intersection, each of us driving separate vehicles. We pulled all four trucks to the side of the dirt road to discuss the game plan for the rest of the day. As we talked, we heard a vehicle speeding up the hill toward us. Because it was making such a loud noise, we turned, knowing whatever was coming was big. When I saw the gargantuan motor home barrel around the corner, I silently wondered if we’d all pulled off the road far enough for it to get by. The road was barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass. My concern waned when the driver didn’t hit the brakes. He just crested the hill and bombed downward toward our vehicles. I figured if the driver had that sort of confidence, he must have had plenty of room.
Wrong.
The shriek of tearing metal was deafening. I covered my ears and watched, thinking surely the driver would stop. My truck bounced up and down as the motor home tore a hole through it and ripped off the rear taillight. Then it did the exact same thing to the truck behind mine. And the driver never once touched his brakes.
The four of us stood in a dumbfounded stupor as the driver raced down the hill, leaving the scene. Needless to say, when we caught up with the driver (which took awhile because he was driving his ginormous motor home way too fast on a narrow, twisting, gravel road with potholes and washboards), he wasn’t nearly as apologetic as the man on the four-wheeler.
Us: “Excuse me, sir, did you know you hit two state vehicles back there?”
Him: “I had no idea.”
Us, jaws dropped because how could he not have heard or felt it: “Well, you did.”
Him: “I thought there was plenty of room.”
Us: “There would’ve been if you had slowed down, but you didn’t touch your brakes once.”
Him: “Because I thought there was plenty of room, but obviously there wasn’t, so this is your fault.”
Good thing the insurance companies—all three of them—didn’t see it that way.
Wrong.
The shriek of tearing metal was deafening. I covered my ears and watched, thinking surely the driver would stop. My truck bounced up and down as the motor home tore a hole through it and ripped off the rear taillight. Then it did the exact same thing to the truck behind mine. And the driver never once touched his brakes.
The four of us stood in a dumbfounded stupor as the driver raced down the hill, leaving the scene. Needless to say, when we caught up with the driver (which took awhile because he was driving his ginormous motor home way too fast on a narrow, twisting, gravel road with potholes and washboards), he wasn’t nearly as apologetic as the man on the four-wheeler.
Us: “Excuse me, sir, did you know you hit two state vehicles back there?”
Him: “I had no idea.”
Us, jaws dropped because how could he not have heard or felt it: “Well, you did.”
Him: “I thought there was plenty of room.”
Us: “There would’ve been if you had slowed down, but you didn’t touch your brakes once.”
Him: “Because I thought there was plenty of room, but obviously there wasn’t, so this is your fault.”
Good thing the insurance companies—all three of them—didn’t see it that way.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Confessions of a Bingo Moron.
Today I’m taking a break from making fun of others to make fun of myself.
Last week I played Bingo with some co-workers. This was my third time playing bingo. My third time winning. But unless I have someone looking over my shoulder, I’m too stupid to know I’ve won. The first two times I played, I collected my earnings only because a friend of mine (the same friend both times) caught my bingo. Alas, my guardian angel was not there last week when I got bingo and didn’t realize it. Of all people, the Bingo Lady pointed it out. She glanced at my card for two seconds as she walked by, and said, “Oh look, you got bingo. Too bad it was five calls ago. Better luck next time.”
That was a proud moment.
Last week I played Bingo with some co-workers. This was my third time playing bingo. My third time winning. But unless I have someone looking over my shoulder, I’m too stupid to know I’ve won. The first two times I played, I collected my earnings only because a friend of mine (the same friend both times) caught my bingo. Alas, my guardian angel was not there last week when I got bingo and didn’t realize it. Of all people, the Bingo Lady pointed it out. She glanced at my card for two seconds as she walked by, and said, “Oh look, you got bingo. Too bad it was five calls ago. Better luck next time.”
That was a proud moment.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Joe Public
Last year I fired a kid for reckless driving. Or rather that was Rock Star’s final straw. Joe Public had called into the office to complain about him. I’d had it. So I let him go.
With that said, most of the time it’s Joe Public who drives like an idiot. I know this, so I instruct my crew to drive defensively. We’ve had many close calls with people on four wheelers. Seriously, people! You’re on four wheelers! With your two-year-old. Next to you is your five-year-old who’s driving his very own four wheeler. Where is the big bad truck supposed to go when you and your kids are taking up the whole road? Never mind none of you have on helmets and ninety percent of you are drunk and you’re all driving fast. Too fast!
Lucky for you, we have several helicopter landing sites in the area so you and/or your child can be life-flighted out when you hit the truck (‘Cause let’s face facts. The truck’s gonna win). Too bad there’s no cell phone reception.
I’ve had many encounters with drunken idiots on Quads, but one incident stands out. I was done with field work for the week and heading home. I’d just left my crew, turned on the radio and settled in for the five hour drive. Thirty seconds down the road, I heard something. Not sure what it was, I turned down the radio and listened. Still not sure, I pulled my foot off the gas. Good thing because as I rounded a bend in the road, two four wheelers (driven by men in their sixties) came whizzing at me. Of course, they were side by side…and racing. I slammed on my brakes and turned my wheel so my truck would hit the bank and not the guy heading straight for me. I don’t know how I didn’t hit him. I don’t know how he didn’t end up a hood ornament. By the time we both stopped, there were only inches between our vehicles. And I could see the fear in his eyes.
He stands out because he was the only person to ever stop and thank me for being a good driver. He admitted he and his buddy had been racing. He was profusely apologetic and grateful. Very grateful.
Now if we could only get the other idiots out there to understand…or, better yet, stop reproducing.
With that said, most of the time it’s Joe Public who drives like an idiot. I know this, so I instruct my crew to drive defensively. We’ve had many close calls with people on four wheelers. Seriously, people! You’re on four wheelers! With your two-year-old. Next to you is your five-year-old who’s driving his very own four wheeler. Where is the big bad truck supposed to go when you and your kids are taking up the whole road? Never mind none of you have on helmets and ninety percent of you are drunk and you’re all driving fast. Too fast!
Lucky for you, we have several helicopter landing sites in the area so you and/or your child can be life-flighted out when you hit the truck (‘Cause let’s face facts. The truck’s gonna win). Too bad there’s no cell phone reception.
I’ve had many encounters with drunken idiots on Quads, but one incident stands out. I was done with field work for the week and heading home. I’d just left my crew, turned on the radio and settled in for the five hour drive. Thirty seconds down the road, I heard something. Not sure what it was, I turned down the radio and listened. Still not sure, I pulled my foot off the gas. Good thing because as I rounded a bend in the road, two four wheelers (driven by men in their sixties) came whizzing at me. Of course, they were side by side…and racing. I slammed on my brakes and turned my wheel so my truck would hit the bank and not the guy heading straight for me. I don’t know how I didn’t hit him. I don’t know how he didn’t end up a hood ornament. By the time we both stopped, there were only inches between our vehicles. And I could see the fear in his eyes.
He stands out because he was the only person to ever stop and thank me for being a good driver. He admitted he and his buddy had been racing. He was profusely apologetic and grateful. Very grateful.
Now if we could only get the other idiots out there to understand…or, better yet, stop reproducing.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Oh Deer:
While there are those in the world who do not realize that fish and wildlife agencies have law enforcement officers, there are those who believe everyone who drives a state fish and wildlife vehicle is a game warden, and hence, equipped to deal with wildlife emergencies.
Case in point, I was driving through town, on a Sunday, in a state vehicle, minding my own business, when a cop pulled up beside me, honking his horn and waving his hand. Confused because he was NOT behind me and his lights were NOT flashing, I pulled into a parking lot. I became even more confused when he knocked on the passenger side window. Breathing a sigh of relief because I was buckled, I unlatched my seatbelt and unlocked the door, at which point, he opened it and said, “Thank God I ran into you. We’ve been trying to get a hold of a game warden for the past few hours. There’s a deer in the middle of the town and we need to move it, can you help us?”
“Uh...” I responded with intelligence as I thought about what he was asking me to do. As luck would have it, he flagged down a person who had access to drugs and could immobilize a deer. Problem was these things almost always went wrong. The biologist or warden or whoever was trying to do a good deed either screwed up, or the animal went crazy, or Joe Public got involved. Either way the so-called professional (that’s me) ended up looking like an ass...on YouTube. So I stammered, weighing my options, and eventually said, “Yeah, I can help.”
Fortunately, everything went smoothly. I darted the deer without any trauma, and after several minutes, it fell asleep...and about fifty people poured out of banks, bars and other businesses, hands clapping and cell phones and cameras snapping.
I gave myself a pat on the back, thinking, “Wow, not only will the deer be okay, but I made the agency look good.” Or so I thought. Everything was so anticlimactic, the event didn’t even make the local news. But we all know, had things gone wrong...the whole world would’ve seen it.
Case in point, I was driving through town, on a Sunday, in a state vehicle, minding my own business, when a cop pulled up beside me, honking his horn and waving his hand. Confused because he was NOT behind me and his lights were NOT flashing, I pulled into a parking lot. I became even more confused when he knocked on the passenger side window. Breathing a sigh of relief because I was buckled, I unlatched my seatbelt and unlocked the door, at which point, he opened it and said, “Thank God I ran into you. We’ve been trying to get a hold of a game warden for the past few hours. There’s a deer in the middle of the town and we need to move it, can you help us?”
“Uh...” I responded with intelligence as I thought about what he was asking me to do. As luck would have it, he flagged down a person who had access to drugs and could immobilize a deer. Problem was these things almost always went wrong. The biologist or warden or whoever was trying to do a good deed either screwed up, or the animal went crazy, or Joe Public got involved. Either way the so-called professional (that’s me) ended up looking like an ass...on YouTube. So I stammered, weighing my options, and eventually said, “Yeah, I can help.”
Fortunately, everything went smoothly. I darted the deer without any trauma, and after several minutes, it fell asleep...and about fifty people poured out of banks, bars and other businesses, hands clapping and cell phones and cameras snapping.
I gave myself a pat on the back, thinking, “Wow, not only will the deer be okay, but I made the agency look good.” Or so I thought. Everything was so anticlimactic, the event didn’t even make the local news. But we all know, had things gone wrong...the whole world would’ve seen it.
Monday, October 25, 2010
GENERATION Y-BOTHER:
Sorry for the two weeks off, folks. I see (and have heard) that my audience is not impressed with me. Sigh. Story of my life. So, I’m used to the nagging. I don’t give in that easily. Besides I know who you are and where you live, so watch out!
And now for the next blog:
Even in the field of wildlife biology, technology is advancing and generations are finding it more difficult to communicate. I’m a gen Xer. My techs are gen Y. I learned how to get around the woods by using a map, compass and altimeter. I was literally dumped in the middle of the woods by my boss, told to go to points A through G, and meet him back at his truck at point H at 5pm. I got lost…a lot, but I learned. And I found his truck.
My techs know how to use a GPS and claimed during the interview that they knew how to read maps and use compasses. Before we went into the field, I asked again if they knew how to read a map and use a compass. “Sure do,” they said.
If they knew how to use a map so well, why did my crew leader and I walk around a ridge for an hour looking for a hair snare they installed? Why did we have to give up searching, start cussing them out, then go back to the truck, resigned to set a new one? Why did we then look down the ridge and see the snare in the valley? ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROAD FROM WHERE THEY PLACED IT ON THE MAP!
After my crew leader and I finally baited the snare in the valley and got into our truck, he looked at me and said, “So, time for you to learn how to use a GPS?”
I did. I learned. Now I use a GPS sometimes and a map all the time. As for my techs? They still claimed they knew how to read a map and refused to let me teach them.
In the case of many of my techs, generation Y was aptly named. As in, Y-bother.
And now for the next blog:
Even in the field of wildlife biology, technology is advancing and generations are finding it more difficult to communicate. I’m a gen Xer. My techs are gen Y. I learned how to get around the woods by using a map, compass and altimeter. I was literally dumped in the middle of the woods by my boss, told to go to points A through G, and meet him back at his truck at point H at 5pm. I got lost…a lot, but I learned. And I found his truck.
My techs know how to use a GPS and claimed during the interview that they knew how to read maps and use compasses. Before we went into the field, I asked again if they knew how to read a map and use a compass. “Sure do,” they said.
If they knew how to use a map so well, why did my crew leader and I walk around a ridge for an hour looking for a hair snare they installed? Why did we have to give up searching, start cussing them out, then go back to the truck, resigned to set a new one? Why did we then look down the ridge and see the snare in the valley? ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROAD FROM WHERE THEY PLACED IT ON THE MAP!
After my crew leader and I finally baited the snare in the valley and got into our truck, he looked at me and said, “So, time for you to learn how to use a GPS?”
I did. I learned. Now I use a GPS sometimes and a map all the time. As for my techs? They still claimed they knew how to read a map and refused to let me teach them.
In the case of many of my techs, generation Y was aptly named. As in, Y-bother.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Off to the Races
I don’t know how it was possible, but my second field season on this project was worse than the first. I went into the field knowing what we were going to do. I had a plan. Too bad I hired techs that made the Gnome look like Einstein. Our first day in the field, my mother and father, who came to visit and see my field site, did more work than my techs. When tech number one arrived, he sat on the couch and stared at the wall while my parents, my crew leader, and I unloaded supplies. Occasionally, we’d ask him to do something, hoping his brain would turn on and he’d start taking some initiative. No such luck. He’d do whatever task we asked him to do then he’d sit back on the couch and stare at the wall. When tech number two arrived, we’d finished unloading, so he sat with tech number one and stared at the wall. Apparently, it was a fascinating wall. Tech number three? Didn’t bother showing up.
And thus began season number two, a season filled with killer Slinkys and wannabe rock stars.
And thus began season number two, a season filled with killer Slinkys and wannabe rock stars.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Are You Grousing Me?
Okay, so grouse isn’t a verb. It’s a bird. And grousing isn’t a word, but so what. This is my blog. Get over it.
If you know what a grouse is, then you might know they eat vegetation. When they’re young, they even eat insects. But they don’t eat salmon. So when I was in a meeting earlier this year and a wildlife biologist said he and his team wanted to study the effects of adding dead salmon to streams on grouse, I was stunned. There were so many things wrong with that statement, but I managed to keep my argument simple.
“We need to study the effects of throwing dead salmon in streams on bears (or some other fish-eating animal), because we already know how bears respond in a natural salmon system,” I said. “If bears don’t respond as we would expect, our management strategy may not be working for wildlife species that are known to use salmon in intact systems. Because no one has ever studied the effects of salmon on grouse, you must first study grouse in an intact salmon system, not in a management area where salmon no longer occur.”
“But everyone knows bears eat salmon,” he said. “We want to study grouse.”
“But grouse don’t eat salmon. And the question isn’t just will the bears eat the dead fish, it’s will the bears consume enough to effect growth rates, reproduction, survival, etc.”
“We want to study grouse.”
And I want to win the lottery, but it ain’t gonna happen...just like the grouse study.
TSWB
If you know what a grouse is, then you might know they eat vegetation. When they’re young, they even eat insects. But they don’t eat salmon. So when I was in a meeting earlier this year and a wildlife biologist said he and his team wanted to study the effects of adding dead salmon to streams on grouse, I was stunned. There were so many things wrong with that statement, but I managed to keep my argument simple.
“We need to study the effects of throwing dead salmon in streams on bears (or some other fish-eating animal), because we already know how bears respond in a natural salmon system,” I said. “If bears don’t respond as we would expect, our management strategy may not be working for wildlife species that are known to use salmon in intact systems. Because no one has ever studied the effects of salmon on grouse, you must first study grouse in an intact salmon system, not in a management area where salmon no longer occur.”
“But everyone knows bears eat salmon,” he said. “We want to study grouse.”
“But grouse don’t eat salmon. And the question isn’t just will the bears eat the dead fish, it’s will the bears consume enough to effect growth rates, reproduction, survival, etc.”
“We want to study grouse.”
And I want to win the lottery, but it ain’t gonna happen...just like the grouse study.
TSWB
Monday, September 20, 2010
Irony’s a bitch.
This weekend I was reminded of what an idiot the Gnome truly was. A friend of mine stopped to pick some apples from a tree with a sign posted next to it that said, “Do not pick my apples.” My friend ignored the sign, picked some apples then twisted his ankle. We both said, “That’s karma for you.”
Whenever something like this happened to the Gnome, he always said, “Irony’s a bitch.” I’m sure the first few times he said it, my face went slack with stupidity. I couldn’t understand what he meant. Then it hit me. He meant karma not irony.
I don’t know if irony’s a bitch, but stupid is entertaining.
And karma will surely come after me for writing this blog.
TSWB
Whenever something like this happened to the Gnome, he always said, “Irony’s a bitch.” I’m sure the first few times he said it, my face went slack with stupidity. I couldn’t understand what he meant. Then it hit me. He meant karma not irony.
I don’t know if irony’s a bitch, but stupid is entertaining.
And karma will surely come after me for writing this blog.
TSWB
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Why do I bother?
So I was in a meeting yesterday, figuring I’d get some good material for the blog. The meeting was filled to the gills with fish biologists. Not one wildlife biologist (with the exception of yours truly and her boss). We presented our proposal asking for more funding. At the end, one fish bio said, “There’s a lot of great science going on here...except this bear stuff. Why don’t you study the ENTIRE FOOD WEB instead of focusing on bears?” My boss and I looked at each other in absolute confusion. How can we possibly study the whole food web? It’s ginormous!
The fish biologist associated with our project explained to him that we have studied the food web. Admittedly, I was still confused. There’s no way we’ve studied the whole food web. Later, I found out that from a fish biologist’s perspective the entire food web consists of everything from biofilm to fish and insects. Anything beyond that (apparently) doesn’t exist.
Do I really need to explain what’s wrong with that? If I do, you must be a fish biologist.
TSWB
The fish biologist associated with our project explained to him that we have studied the food web. Admittedly, I was still confused. There’s no way we’ve studied the whole food web. Later, I found out that from a fish biologist’s perspective the entire food web consists of everything from biofilm to fish and insects. Anything beyond that (apparently) doesn’t exist.
Do I really need to explain what’s wrong with that? If I do, you must be a fish biologist.
TSWB
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Attack of the Killer Slinkys
Before everyone thinks I never say good things about techs, let me say this: without two spectacular techs, I wouldn’t have survived my first field season on this project. These techs were completely invested in the study and helped me problem solve virtually every day. I am especially grateful for one of these techs because he has suffered through the years with me. The other was a little brighter. He moved on to bigger and better pastures.
But let’s face it. Telling sappy stories about good techs isn’t nearly as fun as snark...so back to it!
This next blog is hard for me, because it forces me to admit I don’t know everything. I work with a lot of different personalities. One personality (who I only work with on occasion) has a VERY dry sense of humor. Unless you know him well, which I don’t, you can’t tell if he’s joking. So when he asked me if I knew how to properly roll barbed-wire, I snorted and said, “Who doesn’t,” thinking he was joking. I mean, how hard can rolling barbed-wire be?
The next the day, three of my four techs and I rolled hundreds and hundreds of feet of barbed-wire. Little did I know, there is a right way to roll barbed-wire…and many wrong ways. Two of my techs knew how to roll barbed-wire. They also knew my other tech and I did NOT, but instead of saying anything, they watched us roll hundreds of feet improperly.
I still had no idea there was a right way and a wrong way to roll the wire until we unrolled it. Turns out, if the wire unrolls in a neat and controlled manner, you did it right. If it springs at your face like a giant killer Slinky trying to scratch out your eyeballs with its barbs, you did it wrong.
Needless to say, we spent many weeks dodging life-sized barbed Slinkys. The two wonderful techs that didn’t think to point out our error before we rolled hundreds of feet of wire incorrectly?
They didn’t last long.
TSWB
But let’s face it. Telling sappy stories about good techs isn’t nearly as fun as snark...so back to it!
This next blog is hard for me, because it forces me to admit I don’t know everything. I work with a lot of different personalities. One personality (who I only work with on occasion) has a VERY dry sense of humor. Unless you know him well, which I don’t, you can’t tell if he’s joking. So when he asked me if I knew how to properly roll barbed-wire, I snorted and said, “Who doesn’t,” thinking he was joking. I mean, how hard can rolling barbed-wire be?
The next the day, three of my four techs and I rolled hundreds and hundreds of feet of barbed-wire. Little did I know, there is a right way to roll barbed-wire…and many wrong ways. Two of my techs knew how to roll barbed-wire. They also knew my other tech and I did NOT, but instead of saying anything, they watched us roll hundreds of feet improperly.
I still had no idea there was a right way and a wrong way to roll the wire until we unrolled it. Turns out, if the wire unrolls in a neat and controlled manner, you did it right. If it springs at your face like a giant killer Slinky trying to scratch out your eyeballs with its barbs, you did it wrong.
Needless to say, we spent many weeks dodging life-sized barbed Slinkys. The two wonderful techs that didn’t think to point out our error before we rolled hundreds of feet of wire incorrectly?
They didn’t last long.
TSWB
Monday, September 6, 2010
The Gnome was NOT the sharpest tool in the shed:
This is a short and sweet lesson about your State Fish and Wildlife Agency.
For those of you who are unaware, your state Fish and Wildlife Agency (or whatever it calls itself) has Law Enforcement Officers. To those of us in the business they’re known as L-E-Os or LEOs. LEOs do as their name suggests. They enforce laws. So it’s NOT advisable to scream by a LEO—who is doing 60 in a 55—virtually blowing off its doors, 'cause he or she is gonna pull you over (and wonder if you’re drunk or stupid). It’s also NOT advisable to fish without a license when you work for the agency that enforces fishing and hunting laws. ‘Cause that’s gonna get you fined…then fired.
For those of you who are unaware, your state Fish and Wildlife Agency (or whatever it calls itself) has Law Enforcement Officers. To those of us in the business they’re known as L-E-Os or LEOs. LEOs do as their name suggests. They enforce laws. So it’s NOT advisable to scream by a LEO—who is doing 60 in a 55—virtually blowing off its doors, 'cause he or she is gonna pull you over (and wonder if you’re drunk or stupid). It’s also NOT advisable to fish without a license when you work for the agency that enforces fishing and hunting laws. ‘Cause that’s gonna get you fined…then fired.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
The Gnome
I can only be nice for so long. So back to the snark with yet another story about a wonderful wildlife technician. The first year of this project, I hired three technicians. Two were awesome; one provided me enough stories to write a book, or at least supply material for a few blog posts. Our first meeting went something like this:
My crew leader and I were in our office when someone announced, “Dick has arrived.” (No, Dick is not his real name, but it should be, and yes, he really did announce his presence in this way.) My crew leader and I looked at each other—trying not to laugh or roll our eyes, because we were professionals—then turned toward the door to greet our new tech, Dick.
It was hard to hide my shock, and honestly, I’m not sure I did. Standing in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb with ankles and arms crossed was a pouty, five-foot-five elf, wearing designer jeans, shiny leather shoes and a pointy fleece hat. He was bejeweled with silver rings on both hands and his face was covered with a Travelocity Gnome-like beard.
I’d like to say I didn’t judge him on the spot, but anyone who knows me knows that would be a bald-faced lie. Unfairly, I had a picture of this kid in my head when I hired him. He was six feet, burly, wore Carhartts and flannel. In my mind, he was a mountain man. But when I saw him, I couldn’t help but think I’d hired a kid who wasn’t sure if he belonged on MTV or in the woods. His confusion had the unfortunate outcome of making him resemble a gnome...one having an identity crisis.
I admit it. I had a slight panic attack, right there in the office. My gut told me I’d made a mistake, but it was too late. Then I chided myself for not giving him a chance. It was unfair to judge him in the first ten seconds of meeting him. But a nagging voice in the back of my mind kept saying, “Your gut is never wrong. Don’t fight the gut.” But I had to, so I slapped a smile on my face and forged ahead.
Straight into a brick wall I like to call hell.
My crew leader and I were in our office when someone announced, “Dick has arrived.” (No, Dick is not his real name, but it should be, and yes, he really did announce his presence in this way.) My crew leader and I looked at each other—trying not to laugh or roll our eyes, because we were professionals—then turned toward the door to greet our new tech, Dick.
It was hard to hide my shock, and honestly, I’m not sure I did. Standing in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb with ankles and arms crossed was a pouty, five-foot-five elf, wearing designer jeans, shiny leather shoes and a pointy fleece hat. He was bejeweled with silver rings on both hands and his face was covered with a Travelocity Gnome-like beard.
I’d like to say I didn’t judge him on the spot, but anyone who knows me knows that would be a bald-faced lie. Unfairly, I had a picture of this kid in my head when I hired him. He was six feet, burly, wore Carhartts and flannel. In my mind, he was a mountain man. But when I saw him, I couldn’t help but think I’d hired a kid who wasn’t sure if he belonged on MTV or in the woods. His confusion had the unfortunate outcome of making him resemble a gnome...one having an identity crisis.
I admit it. I had a slight panic attack, right there in the office. My gut told me I’d made a mistake, but it was too late. Then I chided myself for not giving him a chance. It was unfair to judge him in the first ten seconds of meeting him. But a nagging voice in the back of my mind kept saying, “Your gut is never wrong. Don’t fight the gut.” But I had to, so I slapped a smile on my face and forged ahead.
Straight into a brick wall I like to call hell.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Hey Bear!
Taking a break from my snarky self to tell a story that made me laugh…in a good way.
Lesson of the day: If you encounter a bear in the woods, stay calm. Don’t panic and don’t run. Remember ninety-nine percent of the time it’s more afraid of you than you are of it. I spend so much time with people who are comfortable with wildlife encounters that I forget many, if not most, are NOT comfortable with them.
A few days ago, I was on a mountain bike ride with a group of friends. The second person to come down the hill, I heard something crashing through the brush on the bank above so I stopped. The bushes above me were moving, and I realized, whatever we had spooked was coming toward us.
This has happened to me before. I’m walking through the woods and spook an animal. Most of the time the animal runs away, but sometimes it runs at me. Not because it’s attacking. Because it was sleeping, heard something scary, and started running.
I figured that’s what happened with this animal. So I stopped and yelled, “Hey bear!” I didn’t know if it was a bear. “Hey bear” is simply something to say to alert whatever is running toward you that you’re there.
My friend in the lead had also stopped, but she didn’t stand still. I have never in my life seen a woman get off a bike so fast and run backward with bike in hand like a shield. With one eye on her and the other on the bank above, I smiled…because I knew exactly what she was doing.
I watched a little black bear jump off the bank and onto the trail in front of us, running as fast as its little legs could carry it...AWAY from us. The bear was terrified.
A few moments later, after everyone calmed down, my friend confessed her thought process. She said, “I knew it was a bear so I thought I’d put you, the bear biologist, between me and the bear, because you’d know what to do.” True, but still, it made me laugh and realize that the true lesson of the day was this: when hiking or biking in the woods, always bring someone slower than you, because you don’t need to outrun the bear. You need to outrun your friend.
Cheers,
TSWB
Lesson of the day: If you encounter a bear in the woods, stay calm. Don’t panic and don’t run. Remember ninety-nine percent of the time it’s more afraid of you than you are of it. I spend so much time with people who are comfortable with wildlife encounters that I forget many, if not most, are NOT comfortable with them.
A few days ago, I was on a mountain bike ride with a group of friends. The second person to come down the hill, I heard something crashing through the brush on the bank above so I stopped. The bushes above me were moving, and I realized, whatever we had spooked was coming toward us.
This has happened to me before. I’m walking through the woods and spook an animal. Most of the time the animal runs away, but sometimes it runs at me. Not because it’s attacking. Because it was sleeping, heard something scary, and started running.
I figured that’s what happened with this animal. So I stopped and yelled, “Hey bear!” I didn’t know if it was a bear. “Hey bear” is simply something to say to alert whatever is running toward you that you’re there.
My friend in the lead had also stopped, but she didn’t stand still. I have never in my life seen a woman get off a bike so fast and run backward with bike in hand like a shield. With one eye on her and the other on the bank above, I smiled…because I knew exactly what she was doing.
I watched a little black bear jump off the bank and onto the trail in front of us, running as fast as its little legs could carry it...AWAY from us. The bear was terrified.
A few moments later, after everyone calmed down, my friend confessed her thought process. She said, “I knew it was a bear so I thought I’d put you, the bear biologist, between me and the bear, because you’d know what to do.” True, but still, it made me laugh and realize that the true lesson of the day was this: when hiking or biking in the woods, always bring someone slower than you, because you don’t need to outrun the bear. You need to outrun your friend.
Cheers,
TSWB
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Rock Star
I’m back from a fun-filled summer in the field. No, really this year was awesome! Why? I changed my strategy. I didn’t hire anyone! Amazing how much smoother things go. No, I didn’t do everything myself. I had help from some fabulous people who have been professionals in the field of wildlife for many years and are not wannabe rock stars. Have I told you that story? No? Well, I will.
After firing not one, but two employees in one day, I found myself in need of a tech. Unfortunately, when you’re hiring in the middle of a field season, the people who are still looking for jobs are still looking for jobs for a reason.
I should’ve known.
But I hired him anyway. Why not? Being a wildlife biologist was this kid’s dream! How could I rob him of his chance? This was his foot in the door.
Or in his case a good swift foot in the ass.
He didn’t last a month. He kept wanting nap time. I kid you not. He requested time to nap in the middle of the day. After I let him go—for reasons other than napping—one of my other techs told me that not 24 hours after this kid had arrived, he’d said, “I don’t want to be here. I wannabe a rock star.”
At least half his wish came true.
TSWB
After firing not one, but two employees in one day, I found myself in need of a tech. Unfortunately, when you’re hiring in the middle of a field season, the people who are still looking for jobs are still looking for jobs for a reason.
I should’ve known.
But I hired him anyway. Why not? Being a wildlife biologist was this kid’s dream! How could I rob him of his chance? This was his foot in the door.
Or in his case a good swift foot in the ass.
He didn’t last a month. He kept wanting nap time. I kid you not. He requested time to nap in the middle of the day. After I let him go—for reasons other than napping—one of my other techs told me that not 24 hours after this kid had arrived, he’d said, “I don’t want to be here. I wannabe a rock star.”
At least half his wish came true.
TSWB
Monday, February 15, 2010
OH NO SHE DIDN'T
“It’s a simple mark and recapture study. “ That’s what Bull--the fish biologist--told me in his oh so condescending manner. Problem is there’s no such thing as a simple mark and recapture study. Not in my world.
Mark and recapture means you capture animals, mark them so you can identify them, release them and then see if you can recapture them. Then you do a whole bunch of cool stats to figure out population density.
Simple.
If you’re a fish biologist.
They capture the fish by sticking a wand in the water and electrocuting them! How hard can it be to catch a stunned fish? Newsflash! I can’t run around the woods, wave my magic wand and stun a bunch of small mammals. I can’t sprinkle fairy dust and put them all to sleep. I can’t sing to them and have them clean my house and make me dresses out of curtains either! No, I have to supply them with food and lodging and hope my motel six for rodents looks and smells inviting. And I have to set up hotels all over the forest. I have to give them options. I have to develop a little rodent city!
I knew this, but wanted to get all the facts before I--the wussy bear bio--said, “Can’t be done.” So I consulted the mark and recapture gods and they told me that to do what needed to be done, I’d have to set 900 traps on each study site. All of these traps would need to be checked twice a day. TWICE! Pile on top of that the fact that we had nine study sites...that gives us 8100 traps! Are you kidding me? I don’t have a budget big enough to buy the traps, let alone hire a crew to check them all.
So I came up with plan B.
Because my research group insisted on small mammals, I set up forty traps at each site, thinking this would give us some idea of the species we were working with. And it was what my budget could handle. I hired a crew of three and we KILLED ourselves to set and check these traps. At the end of the season, when I proved to everyone that small mammals had no value in this study, Bane yelled at me.
“I don’t understand why you insisted on doing small mammals if you knew it wasn’t going to work. And why the hell did you spend so much money on traps we can’t use anymore? Why didn’t you attempt a scaled down version to test things before going all out!”
Oh yes she did.
TSWB
Mark and recapture means you capture animals, mark them so you can identify them, release them and then see if you can recapture them. Then you do a whole bunch of cool stats to figure out population density.
Simple.
If you’re a fish biologist.
They capture the fish by sticking a wand in the water and electrocuting them! How hard can it be to catch a stunned fish? Newsflash! I can’t run around the woods, wave my magic wand and stun a bunch of small mammals. I can’t sprinkle fairy dust and put them all to sleep. I can’t sing to them and have them clean my house and make me dresses out of curtains either! No, I have to supply them with food and lodging and hope my motel six for rodents looks and smells inviting. And I have to set up hotels all over the forest. I have to give them options. I have to develop a little rodent city!
I knew this, but wanted to get all the facts before I--the wussy bear bio--said, “Can’t be done.” So I consulted the mark and recapture gods and they told me that to do what needed to be done, I’d have to set 900 traps on each study site. All of these traps would need to be checked twice a day. TWICE! Pile on top of that the fact that we had nine study sites...that gives us 8100 traps! Are you kidding me? I don’t have a budget big enough to buy the traps, let alone hire a crew to check them all.
So I came up with plan B.
Because my research group insisted on small mammals, I set up forty traps at each site, thinking this would give us some idea of the species we were working with. And it was what my budget could handle. I hired a crew of three and we KILLED ourselves to set and check these traps. At the end of the season, when I proved to everyone that small mammals had no value in this study, Bane yelled at me.
“I don’t understand why you insisted on doing small mammals if you knew it wasn’t going to work. And why the hell did you spend so much money on traps we can’t use anymore? Why didn’t you attempt a scaled down version to test things before going all out!”
Oh yes she did.
TSWB
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Fire in the (shit) hole!...and a guest blogger.
Okay boys and girls, help me welcome our guest blogger. She (and possibly others) will be helping me out with the blog. She too is a wildlife biologist who has endured the frustrations and excitement of the job.
Hi everyone! A little bit about me. I have lived in a two-person tent for two months and believe me when I tell you, it was better than the 18 months of living in a condemned FEMA trailer! Who knew! Although the frustrations of being a wildlife biologist are endless, there is seldom a dull moment. Enjoy!
Question: What do you do at the end of a field season (in remote Alaska) with a wooden shitter that’s filled to the gills and needs to go bye-bye?
Answer:
a. Sling it out of a helicopter into a boat and take shit-full shitter with you OR
b. Burn it!
Uh, duh...you burn it. Cause let’s face it. No one wants to take that home with them. And fire is fun! But dangerous. So remember safety first. We did. We took our shitter to the beach. No, not for a vacation. Less vegetation. Water... you get my drift. Okay so now that we’re completely safe, let the fun begin!
Step 1. Pour A-1 helicopter fuel over shitter. That’s right, HELICOPTER FUEL! Regular gasoline is for babies.
Step 2. To ignite, shoot shitter with slugs from a 12-gauge shotgun. Shoot it again. And again. And again.
Step 2b. Because shooting it with slugs didn’t work, shoot it with a flare. Again and again and again. We’ve got ignition! But not nearly enough so...
Step 1b. Add more fuel. It’s a good idea to walk up to a fire and pour more gas on it from a 1-gallon can, right? Wait...is it bad if the flame leaps up into the can?
Step1c. Fill garbage bag with 10 gallons of gas and throw into flame...SUCCESS!
What we learned...
Thompson’s water seal is not only water resistant, it’s fire resistant, too!
Hi everyone! A little bit about me. I have lived in a two-person tent for two months and believe me when I tell you, it was better than the 18 months of living in a condemned FEMA trailer! Who knew! Although the frustrations of being a wildlife biologist are endless, there is seldom a dull moment. Enjoy!
Question: What do you do at the end of a field season (in remote Alaska) with a wooden shitter that’s filled to the gills and needs to go bye-bye?
Answer:
a. Sling it out of a helicopter into a boat and take shit-full shitter with you OR
b. Burn it!
Uh, duh...you burn it. Cause let’s face it. No one wants to take that home with them. And fire is fun! But dangerous. So remember safety first. We did. We took our shitter to the beach. No, not for a vacation. Less vegetation. Water... you get my drift. Okay so now that we’re completely safe, let the fun begin!
Step 1. Pour A-1 helicopter fuel over shitter. That’s right, HELICOPTER FUEL! Regular gasoline is for babies.
Step 2. To ignite, shoot shitter with slugs from a 12-gauge shotgun. Shoot it again. And again. And again.
Step 2b. Because shooting it with slugs didn’t work, shoot it with a flare. Again and again and again. We’ve got ignition! But not nearly enough so...
Step 1b. Add more fuel. It’s a good idea to walk up to a fire and pour more gas on it from a 1-gallon can, right? Wait...is it bad if the flame leaps up into the can?
Step1c. Fill garbage bag with 10 gallons of gas and throw into flame...SUCCESS!
What we learned...
Thompson’s water seal is not only water resistant, it’s fire resistant, too!
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Lesson of the Day: If you live with your boss, don’t do stupid shit.
To some of us, this might sound like common sense, but as I get older and snarkier, I’m finding that people can be downright stupid. So today, I’m going to give those of you starting out in your careers a list of don’ts. Don’ts that I have seen one, yes ONE, technician do. And rest assured this will not be the last list of its kind.
DO NOT ruin your job for your boyfriend/girlfriend. Do not cry to your boss about your dysfunctional relationship. And yes, I mean CRY. We don’t want to see you break down in tears and blubber all over yourself. Especially if you’re a guy! I know I’m not being PC, but seriously grow a set. Be a man. Do not cry to your female boss and think she’s going to feel sorry for you because she’s a female. We’re women! We’re not stupid! We’re probably thinking she’s right in dumping you!
DO NOT get drunk off your ass on a work night and brag to your boss about all the stupid shit you’ve done in your life. We’re old. We’re not impressed by stupidity like your friends are.
DO NOT drive to the nearest town (on a work night), which is twenty miles away on a treacherous road, and get so drunk you pass out in your car--after you’ve thrown up all over it. When you wake up, DO NOT then drive your car back to the trailer. For those of you who don’t know this—driving while you’re obliterated out of your mind is ILLEGAL!
DO NOT then force your boss and coworkers to get you out of bed so you can get your ass to work. I’m not your mother! DO NOT throw up all over the government vehicle! DO NOT brag to your coworkers about what you did! DO NOT look for pity from your boss by telling her you don’t feel well because you got so drunk last night that you’re still drunk then run into the woods and puke your brains out. DO NOT think all of this is cool! DO NOT then realize your mistake then go CRYING, yes crying to your boss and telling her that you’re not a man because you never knew your father! DO NOT then go back to your coworkers and brag to them about how you broke down in tears and gave your boss a sob story about your past that had her eating out of your hand. How many times do I have to say it? WE are not stupid! YOU are!
DO NOT go fishing without a license when you work for the agency that enforces fishing laws AND you drive one of their trucks with the big emblem (covered in your vomit) on the side. For those of you who don’t again understand, fishing without a license is against the law. Fishing without a license when you work for the agency that enforces that law is stupid…and the final straw.
TSWB
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Trailer Trash
Not many women would do what I do. Live where I’ve lived. And let me be the first to say, those women are a lot smarter than me.
Many times wildlife biologists work in remote places. Live in remote places. Live with our coworkers and supervisors. Live in crap-holes with no running water, no electricity, and mice nesting in our hair. This is not a forty-year-old woman’s dream. At least not mine. So imagine my elation when I realized that not only had I signed on to a project for which I—the bear biologist—would be studying song birds, but I also got to live in a crappy trailer with three men young enough to be my sons. That is, if I had gotten busy at a really young age.
The four of us lived together. In a trailer. With no running water. No working toilet. No electricity. Not really what we were expecting. But we were tough and we dealt with it. We didn’t have a choice. Besides, we had a water spigot outside the trailer and the water was potable. We had a campsite with a shitter a quarter mile down the road and a hot springs with a waterfall three miles down the road. And we had camp stoves. We were set. I was doing okay.
Until the night the mouse crawled across my face.
It’s not that bad, I told myself. Go back to sleep.
I did.
And the next night another mouse skittered over my head.
This was going to be a long summer.
TSWB
Many times wildlife biologists work in remote places. Live in remote places. Live with our coworkers and supervisors. Live in crap-holes with no running water, no electricity, and mice nesting in our hair. This is not a forty-year-old woman’s dream. At least not mine. So imagine my elation when I realized that not only had I signed on to a project for which I—the bear biologist—would be studying song birds, but I also got to live in a crappy trailer with three men young enough to be my sons. That is, if I had gotten busy at a really young age.
The four of us lived together. In a trailer. With no running water. No working toilet. No electricity. Not really what we were expecting. But we were tough and we dealt with it. We didn’t have a choice. Besides, we had a water spigot outside the trailer and the water was potable. We had a campsite with a shitter a quarter mile down the road and a hot springs with a waterfall three miles down the road. And we had camp stoves. We were set. I was doing okay.
Until the night the mouse crawled across my face.
It’s not that bad, I told myself. Go back to sleep.
I did.
And the next night another mouse skittered over my head.
This was going to be a long summer.
TSWB
Friday, February 5, 2010
KISS
Or Keep it Simple Stupid. This is one of the basic rules of research, especially when you're just starting out. Which I am. And my area of--well, I hate to call myself an expert so I'll simply say--the area in which I'm narrowly focused is the obscure yet interesting field of nutritional ecology of mammals. Specifically, I study bears. I've studied other animals, like porcupine and beavers, but suffice it to say, I study mammals. So when I was asked to join a project dealing with terrestrial vertebrates and salmon, I thought, great! This is right up my alley!
Even cooler, I got to to attend the first meeting for the project as a primary investigator, meaning, I got a say in the research design. Or so I thought. The other researchers took one look at me and my credentials, wondered where the hell the head honcho was, and decided to tell me what they deemed to be important for the project. They didn't want to study bears.
"Who cares about bears?" one researcher said to me. We'll call this anonymous researcher Bane.
Translation: "I'm sick and tired of hearing about lions, tigers and bears. And I certainly don't want your charismatic mega-fauna overshadowing my exciting forestry science."
"And we all need to speak the same language," said anonymous researcher number two, who will from now on be referred to as, Bull. "We all need to evaluate the effects of our treatment on population density. And you my dear bear biologist will study small mammals and birds."
Bear biologist, who will now be referred to as Spineless Wuss--that's me--replied with an intelligent, "HUH?"
Okay, lesson number one. If you're going to study the effects of a treatment on a population of animals, know the species of animals in your study area. Know the ecology of said species. Know SOMETHING!
Lesson number two: Even if you sound like a Negative Nelly, speak your mind. It'll save you a long hard summer of hell.
When Bull made these statements my thoughts were as follows. Population density? Holy hard. Our treatments are so small, we'll never see a result. Small mammals? What the hell do small mammals have to do with our experiment? Maybe, just maybe, we'd see some sort of effect in, oh I don't know, a century give or take fifty years! Birds? Wait, they have feathers. I don't do birds!
And so began summer number one of hell. For those of you who don't do science, rest assured, there was nothing simple about this project.
TSWB
Even cooler, I got to to attend the first meeting for the project as a primary investigator, meaning, I got a say in the research design. Or so I thought. The other researchers took one look at me and my credentials, wondered where the hell the head honcho was, and decided to tell me what they deemed to be important for the project. They didn't want to study bears.
"Who cares about bears?" one researcher said to me. We'll call this anonymous researcher Bane.
Translation: "I'm sick and tired of hearing about lions, tigers and bears. And I certainly don't want your charismatic mega-fauna overshadowing my exciting forestry science."
"And we all need to speak the same language," said anonymous researcher number two, who will from now on be referred to as, Bull. "We all need to evaluate the effects of our treatment on population density. And you my dear bear biologist will study small mammals and birds."
Bear biologist, who will now be referred to as Spineless Wuss--that's me--replied with an intelligent, "HUH?"
Okay, lesson number one. If you're going to study the effects of a treatment on a population of animals, know the species of animals in your study area. Know the ecology of said species. Know SOMETHING!
Lesson number two: Even if you sound like a Negative Nelly, speak your mind. It'll save you a long hard summer of hell.
When Bull made these statements my thoughts were as follows. Population density? Holy hard. Our treatments are so small, we'll never see a result. Small mammals? What the hell do small mammals have to do with our experiment? Maybe, just maybe, we'd see some sort of effect in, oh I don't know, a century give or take fifty years! Birds? Wait, they have feathers. I don't do birds!
And so began summer number one of hell. For those of you who don't do science, rest assured, there was nothing simple about this project.
TSWB
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