Bearly Sedated

It’s always exciting (and not in a good way) when a bear wakes up from anesthesia…and is not contained. Granted the drugs we use do not allow for spontaneous recovery, but when the person with the drugs is nowhere to be found or downright stupid, then we have a problem. Last week, a six hundred pound grizzly bear lifted his head and growled at the people working on him. Not to worry, he was groggy and we bumped him with more sedative. Everything was fine. But I was reminded of an incident that happened many years ago that didn’t go quite so smoothly.

My superiors—I use that term loosely—were transporting two grizzly cubs that weighed roughly one hundred pounds each to a local vet hospital. The cubs were fine, just getting a checkup. They were sedated in large dog crates in the back of a truck. I followed behind in my BRAND NEW Subaru Outback.

Let me be clear from the get go. I was new to this whole thing and therefore NOT in charge of drugging. Some dumbass guy, who will now be referred to as Dumbass, was.

When the first bear was done with her checkup, Dumbass, two other women and I wheeled her, on a gurney, to the parking lot where the dog crate awaited.

And then a strange thing happened…

The bear woke up.

The two women and I jumped on the bear and held her down, thinking Dumbass would bump her with some more drug. But nooooo, Dumbass panicked. He couldn’t get it together enough to find the drugs let alone administer them.
So what did we do?

That’s right, the three ladies shoved a very awake, very pissed off grizzly bear into a dog crate. But we couldn’t get the door shut…because the bear tore it off the crate. So we held the door over the opening, trying not to get bitten.
As if that weren’t enough, Dumbass couldn’t find the keys to the truck.

So what did we do?

You guessed it. We shoved an awake and barely contained grizzly bear into my BRAND NEW Subaru! The two women and Dumbass sat in the back, trying to keep the bear contained, while I raced through 25mph speed zones at 60mph to get to the holding facility. And what does Dumbass say?

“Slow down. You’re going to get pulled over.”

“Bring on the police,” I yelled and stepped on the gas. “They can help us unload this thing.”

Here Kitty, Kitty...

Last week, I went into the field with Cougar Hunter and two other men—Rookie, who’s new to wildlife biology, and THE HOUNDSMAN, who is the greatest houndsman with the greatest hounds—to catch cougars. With no snow—and hence no snowshoes, no snowmobiles, and a snowball’s chance in hell of catching a cat—I thought for sure I wasn’t going to have a story to share.

But then Cougar Hunter spotted a cat track in the frost and THE HOUNDSMAN’s dogs were on the move. Their chances of finding the cat were slim. Tracking a cat with no snow on the ground is tough.

But these dogs proved tougher.

After a couple hours of searching, losing the trail and backtracking, they bayed their “We’ve treed a cougar” bay.

We raced toward the dogs, and when we got them in sight, we realized they had not treed a cougar. They’d cornered it in a culvert. Alas, a cougar in a culvert is not a good thing. So Cougar Hunter decided to chase her out and see if the dogs could tree her. But the cat didn’t run up a tree. It ran into another culvert.

So what did we do?

Duh, we peeked inside.

Okay, not too bright. Even less bright? To position the cat so Cougar Hunter could dart it, Rookie and I stood on one end of the culvert, hoping she’d back away from us toward Cougar Hunter and THE HOUNDSMAN who stood on the other side. Instead, she came at us. Rookie and I screamed like little girls and got out of the way fast.

“What are you doing?” yelled THE HOUNDSMAN.

“She came at us!” we yelled.

"Go back and make sure she doesn’t run out of the culvert!” ordered THE HOUNDSMAN.

Feeling sufficiently reprimanded for not being tough enough, I said, “Uh…okay.” Then Rookie and I tiptoed back to the opening and peeked inside, hoping we wouldn’t get our faces ripped off.

When we looked into the culvert, the cat turned around to face Cougar Hunter and THE HOUNDSMAN.

Then she charged them and…

…they screamed and got the hell out of her way.

I Hate Snowmobiles just as much as I Hate Snowshoes…

And when the snowmobile is government owned…You know I’m in trouble. Put that snowmobile in the back of a government truck… Well, shit, bad things happen.

Many years ago, I had spent a winter working in remote areas, accessible only by snowmobiles. Day in and day out, I would unload the government snowmobile from the back of the government truck, slog through the snow for hours upon hours and then load the snow machine back on the truck.

I had done this MANY TIMES.

Then one day, I wrecked two government vehicles in one shot.

I was loading the snowmobile onto the bed of the truck—as I had done many times before—but instead of the sled sliding into the bed, it rocketed up the ramp and launched over the bed and across the top of the cab—putting a nice dent in the cab. Then the snowmobile flipped over…with me still on it.

I don’t know how, but I landed on my feet. And with the sled crashing down on my back, I somehow managed to jump out of the way.

From that day on, I swore I would never drive a snowmobile again…

…so for the next two weeks, I will most likely be on a snowmobile or worse yet, hiking with snowshoes...chasing cougars with Cougar Hunter.

Stay tuned…bad things are sure to happen.

A Week in the Life of Cougar Hunter.

I haven’t been in the field much this year, but thankfully, I have friends that are in the same business. And they too do stupid shit...and tell me about it.

Cougar Hunter spent the last few months as a desk jockey, then found himself in the field chasing bears. His week looked something like this:

Day 1: While following a signal for a radio-collared bear, he stabbed himself in the leg not once, not twice, but five times before he realized it was a needle in his pocket and not a thorny bush. Despite his ineptitude, he found the radio collar he was looking for. Unfortunately, it was no longer on a bear.

Day 2: He found another radio collar. This one was on a bear that was in a den! Too bad Cougar Hunter left his drugs and equipment in the truck. When he got back to the den, the bear was gone.

Day 3: Bear from day 2 outsmarted Cougar Hunter by crossing into private land. Land Cougar Hunter did not have permission to go onto, so Cougar Hunter followed a radio signal to another collar…that was no longer on a bear.

Day 4: Cougar Hunter was outsmarted, yet again, by the bear from day 2.

Day 4…a little later: Cougar Hunter went home to get ready to chase Cougars. Bears are way too smart for him;-)

Government Vehicles and I don’t get along…

Almost as much as me and snowshoes.

I have had a long string of “accidents” while driving government vehicles. My inability to drive a government vehicle without wrecking it began when I was fighting wildfires. On one particular dispatch, little did I know, the fire wasn’t going to be the dangerous part of the job, getting to the fire was.

I had been driving for eight hours—because I was young and stupid and didn’t know how to boss boys around yet—and not one of the five boys riding in my rig was awake, which pissed me off. My truck was the last in line of a four vehicle caravan. We were in the left lane, passing a car, when suddenly the car sped up, cut off the first vehicle in our caravan, then slammed on its brakes and cut across the median. By the time my foot hit the brake pedal, the front of my truck was eating the back of the van in front of me.

On the plus side?

Every dumb boy in my truck was wide awake...and I didn't have to drive anymore.

BIOLOGISTS WHO STUDY ANIMALS THAT CAN EAT THEM REALLY SHOULD BE SMARTER THAN THE AVERAGE BEAR.

But many times, we're not. We just get lucky.

A friend of mine recently told me a story about one of his less than stellar moments. In this story he was trying to collar a cougar, therefore I have dubbed him Cougar Hunter.

After Cougar Hunter had successfully treed (meaning hounds had chased the cougar until the cougar climbed a tree) the cougar and darted it, he proceeded to climb the tree so he could pull the soon to be sleeping cat to the ground. But the cat didn’t fall asleep. It climbed higher. And so did Cougar Hunter. Which made the cat climb higher yet. Before Cougar Hunter knew it, he and the cat were 75 feet up an 85-foot-high tree…swaying in the wind.

Not too bright.

To make matters worse, the cat never fell asleep and Cougar Hunter had to abort his mission. But he learned a valuable lesson: Before climbing a tree after an animal that can eat you, check the dart with binoculars to ensure the drug actually administered.

Two Wildlife Biologists go Mountain Biking in the Woods and…

…prove they’re not so bright. And yes, one of those bikers/biologists was me.

A couple weeks ago, a friend of mine—who will from now on be referred to as Wordsmith—and I went mountain biking in the snow. About two miles into the ride, we heard a woodpecker and stopped to identify it. Our brilliant conversation went something like this.

“Do you see it?” asked Wordsmith.

“No. Do you?”

“It’s right there?” He pointed.

“Oh, yeah, I see it now.”

“What kind is it?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“Oh wait, it’s a … uh…pela…pelaginous… Damn what are those things called?” said Wordsmith.

“Pelaginous?" I wrinkled my nose at him. "What the hell are you talking about?”

For those of you who don’t know, there is no such thing as a pelaginous bird, but there are pelagic birds. They’re sea birds. Any sea bird. Woodpeckers are not sea birds, therefore they are not pelagic or pelaginous.

“Do you mean a downy?” I asked, trying to get us back to woodpeckers? “Oh wait, I know what you mean. You’re thinking of a…uh…pileated!”

“Yes! It’s a pileated woodpecker.”

I snort with disgust at his stupidity. “That’s not a pileated. My parents have them in their backyard. Pileated woodpeckers are much bigger than that.”

The next morning, I looked up the stupid bird. Sure enough it was a pileated woodpecker. Even worse, Wordsmith had looked it up the night before and knew I was wrong. But he is much nicer than I am and didn’t feel the need to rub my nose in it. Instead, he let me live in my own little world—one in which I’m much smarter than I really am.

Shit…I Mean, Shoot.

As a wildlife biologist who studies bears, I have a few holes in my education. One of which is my lack of firearm training. A while ago, I asked some friends to teach me how to shoot. A couple weeks later, they took me and a few others out to a firing range where we first learned about gun safety.

Rule Number One: NEVER EVER EVER POINT A GUN, LOADED OR UNLOADED, AT A PERSON!

After the safety talk, we shot rifles and shotguns. That day I learned three very important things.

First, NEVER EVER EVER POINT A GUN, LOADED OR UNLOADED, AT A PERSON! Okay, so already knew that, but it’s good to have that drilled into your head.

Second, I suck at shooting.

Third, I am never going into the woods during hunting season again. Some people should not be allowed to handle guns. I’ve heard of people getting shot while hunting. I’ve seen movies that feature idiots handling guns, but until this day, I hadn’t experienced it. I didn’t actually believe I knew someone dense enough to turn toward a group of people and swing the gun so that it too pointed at said group. Rightfully, the group yelled and got the hell out of the way. When the idiot realized what she’d done, she pointed the barrel of the gun at the ground and said, “It’s okay. The safety’s on.”

Yeah, right, ‘cause safeties never fail, and didn’t you hear the part about NEVER EVER EVER POINT A GUN, LOADED OR UNLOADED, AT A PERSON!

Bears: Not the Sharpest Color in the Rainbow, but they Sure are Stupid…I Mean Tough.

I’ve always said, if I were to be attacked by a bear, I’d rather it be a grizzly than a black bear. Depending on the situation, many grizzlies attack because they perceive you as a threat. Which is why playing dead can work with a grizzly. If the threat is gone, they’ll most likely walk away. If a black bear attacks you, you’re dinner.

A few days ago, I witnessed some typical grizzly bear behavior. We had let four cubs of the year into a several acre pen. It was their first time out. Their first time on soil. Their first time on grass. And their first time to come in contact with a high-voltage electric wire.

Most bears that come in contact with the electric wire get zapped once and never get close to the wire again. So when one bear sniffed the wire, got zapped and ran away, we all thought, great. It’s learning.

And then it proved us wrong.

Although he was only 150 pounds and not even a year old, he wasn’t going to be defeated by a wire. He approached and sniffed it again. Had the wire played dead and not zapped baby bear, baby bear probably would have left the wire alone, but the wire zapped him. And baby bear got pissed. It attacked the wire with its open mouth. Zap! Attack. Zap! Attack. Zap! Attack. Zap! When all was said and done, the wire finally defeated baby bear.

But the moral of the story is this: Unless you know you can defeat the grizzly, best not to antagonize it.

I Hate Snowshoes...Even When I Don't Have Them On.

The second time I wore snowshoes was as successful as the first. But only because I took them off.

I hiked five miles up a snowy road, down a hill through a clear-cut then came to a stream. The only way across was to climb onto a giant fallen tree and walk across it. I couldn’t climb onto the tree with my snowshoes on, so I took them off, strapped them to my pack and walked across the fallen tree. On the other side of the stream, I jumped down from the tree.

And fell through the crusty snow up to my armpits, my arms winged out to my sides the only things stopping me from falling further. I kicked my feet down, but couldn’t get solid footing. I tried to grab the snow with my gloved hands and pull myself out of the hole, but I couldn’t get a hold of anything. The snow was too slick and icy on top.

So what did I do?

I took off my pack, slid it in front of me on the icy snow then grabbed a hold of it and wiggled my way out of the hole. Then I stood up.

And promptly fell through the snow up to my armpits again.

And again...

and again.

I Love Snarky People!

I think I’ve said this before, but I’m going to say it again. People do not become wildlife biologists because they like people. Most of us are not extroverted. And most of us find it difficult to communicate, which makes for some fantastically hilarious interactions. I witnessed one such interaction last week.

Several of us were working on some bears. Because we had several bears to monitor, people were spread a bit thin. At one point, I was completely useless (well more than one point). At this particular point, I was fielding questions from the public while a graduate student, who will be named SJ for Snarky Junior, was struggling to roll a bear over. The bear wasn’t big, but the help of one person would’ve made SJ’s life a lot easier. Coincidentally, someone, who will now be referred to as “Huh?” was available to help. Huh? was in fact standing next to the bear and chatting at SJ. Yet Huh? did not lift a finger to help. She just kept talking.

With arms wrapped around the sleeping bear, SJ said to Huh? “You could help, if you wanted to.”

I laughed out loud because although SJ words weren’t mean, her tone was that of a professional Snark. She was pissed.

Even funnier was that Huh? just kept chatting.

So like the true professional I am, I stopped my conversation with the public and said to Huh, “Or even if you didn’t want to, you could.”

Forget Lions, Tigers and Bears…People are way Scarier.

When I was an owl hooter, Not-So-Much once told me the most dangerous thing I would encounter in the woods was not bears, wolves or even cougars; it was people. I didn’t believe him. That was until we were confronted by several men deep in the forest. Though it was not hunting season, they were dressed in camo and carrying guns. Big guns. I wouldn’t say their really big freak’n guns were aimed at us, but they weren’t aimed away either.

“What are you two doing out here?” Rambo asked as his band of not so merry men looked us up and down.

“Marking timber and property lines,” responded Not-So-Much.

I kept my mouth shut, but wondered why Not-So-Much had lied.

“Which timber company?” Rambo asked, unconvinced.

“Longview Fiber.”

Rambo studied us for a few long seconds then nodded and lowered his gun. “Good, ’cause we’d have to shoot you if you was one of them owl hooters.”

Yet Another Stupid Question:

When I was in grad school, a visiting professor, who was an expert on burrowing owls, went on a field trip with a class of mine. One particularly annoying graduate student cornered the professor by sitting next to him in the van.

Poor visiting professor.

Desperate to impress the professor—why, I’m not sure—the graduate student babbled on and on with questions and comments. The rest of us sat quietly, rolling our eyes.

And then the brilliant graduate student said, “Can you tell me how high up a tree a burrowing owl nests?”

The professor’s eyes got really big and he said, “Can you tell me the definition of burrow?”

Okay, no, he didn’t, but it would’ve been awesome if he had because she really did ask that stupid question.

Stupid Students

I taught a lab today and thought I’d get some good material for my blog, but alas, the students worked hard and had great attitudes.

Stupid students.

Thinking about school reminded me of my undergraduate vertebrate biology class. One day we were discussing birds. We learned that a ratite is a flightless bird, like an emu, an ostrich and a kiwi. That same day we talked about glide polars, flight curves of birds. While the professor drew a glide polar on the board, one student raised her hand and said, “So then what’s the glide polar of a ratite?”

Like I said, stupid students.

Down Periscope

A couple years after I heard about the guy who fell into a bear den, I found myself doing a lot of winter work in the woods. I was working with two men and we were surveying snags (dead trees) in a recently burned area. Two of us would post-hole through the snow along transects and count the snags. The third person post-holed between us and recorded the numbers we shouted. The two people on the end were approximate fifteen meters from the middle person. We did our best to stay together.

One day, as we counted and recorded snags, I heard one of my coworkers cry out. But when I looked over, I didn't see him.

“Where’s Bob?” I asked.

“Here!” Bob shouted.

I scanned the area until I finally spotted him, or rather, I spotted his head poking out of the snow, a big grin on his face. When I realized what had happened, I laughed. Bob was fine. He had taken a step and fallen through the snow into a burned out stump hole. A perfect place for a bear den. Fortunately, this time there was no bear.

Bootjacked

When I started working in wildlife, I worked with a guy whose name I can’t remember, but he told me a story I will never forget. He was walking through the woods in the winter and fell a couple of feet through the snow. A warm gust of stinky air wafted up from the hole. A second later, the ground under his feet began to move. Then the ground took hold of his leg, and instantly, he realized what had happened:

He’d fallen into a bear den and landed on a hibernating bear.

He doesn't remember how, but he managed to make it to his truck--which was a mile away. Not until he got into the truck did he realize he only had one boot.

Possible CATastrophes Thwarted:

One snow-covered, moonlit night, I hiked up an old logging road. The snow was knee high and crunchy. The kind that supports your weight for a millisecond before you drop through. I hiked about two miles then turned around and began hooting for spotted owls. Not more than ten minutes after I began hooting, I heard something crunching below me in the woods. I stopped, thinking my ears were playing tricks on me. The crunching continued then stopped. I took a couple steps. The crunching followed.

Adrenaline shot through me as my brain ran through the things it could and could not be. Not a bear. They were still hibernating. Not a wolf. They weren’t in the area. Not a deer or elk. They would run away and sound very different in the snow. It had to be big enough to break through the crust. So what could it be?

Cougar.

Not optimal considering I was almost two miles from my truck. I had heard many stories of cougars escorting people out of their territories—I’d also heard stories of cougars attacking people—the cougars simply wanted to see what the people were up to and followed them until the people left their territory. I also knew I couldn’t outrun a cougar…even if I wasn’t knee-high in snow. So I really hoped this was a curious cat, not a hungry one.

I hiked slowly and deliberately, crunching as loud as I could. I put my hands in the air to make myself look as big as I could. Fortunately, I had a backpack on, which helped me look bigger. The cat followed me for a mile or more then left. When I finally made it to the truck, I radioed my partner and told him I was done early because I had a cougar stalking me.

“Perfect,” he said. “Now, get over here and pick me up. I’ve been throwing rocks at a cougar for the past thirty minutes.”

OutFoxed:

When I worked on Cactus Island, I was not only issued a Leatherman, I was given a pair of leather gloves.

“What are these for?” I naively asked.

“You’ll see,” said my boss.

For this job, we live-trapped feral cats. Occasionally, we’d catch an Island fox. When we caught our first fox, our boss put on his gloves, made a fist and stuck his hand in the trap. Though the fox opened his mouth to bite him, the fox’s mouth was too small to get around his fist. My boss grabbed the fox by the scruff of the neck and pulled it out of the trap. Then he set it in his lap on its back. He kept the fox still with one hand pressing lightly around its neck. The fox just laid there and let us check it over before we released it. Easy.

“Don’t worry if it tries to bite you,” he said as I prepared to pull my first fox out of a trap. “Its mouth isn’t big and his teeth aren’t sharp enough to get through the gloves.”

“Okay,” I said, then stuck my fist into the trap. Sure enough the fox snapped at me, but I held steady. I’d watch my boss do it, and he said the gloves would protect me. I had complete faith.

Idiot.

Sure enough, the fox got his mouth around my much smaller fist with no problem. Then it sunk its tiny teeth through the glove into my flesh.

“Ow!” I pulled my hand out of the trap and ripped off my glove. Blood flowed out of several tooth marks. I shot an angry look at my boss.

He simply laughed. “Yeah…I might’ve lied about them not being able to bite through the glove.”

Tucker...the Little You Know What.

I could write a book about my dogs that would make Marley and Me look like a day at the beach. Granted, dogs are not wildlife, but they’re animals, and mine provide an endless supply of stories. Anyone who knows me (and my dogs) will vouch for this.

Tucker is a twelve-year-old Aussie. I hoped by twelve he would’ve calmed down or gained some sense. But no, he still howls every time I leave the house. I can hear him a block away. He’s still petrified of thunder, lightning, fireworks and his shadow. If I’m home during a thunderstorm, he shakes and pants uncontrollably. If I’m not and there’s a loud noise, his only goal is to run. If he’s outside, he jumps the fence or digs under it. If he’s inside, he digs at the windows and the doors, trying to break free. He has dug all the way through the wall of a house…twice. Several weeks ago, he actually opened the back door.

Last week, I came home to a redecorated house. Tucker had taken down the blinds and destroyed them.

Why?

There was no rain, no thunder, no lightning, but I believe there was a cloud in the sky that day.

My Stupid Sense of Humor

Insight into how my brain works…or doesn’t.

Last week, a friend of mine, who is highly intelligent, told me HER BOSS sent an email with a SYNAPSES (his word, not hers) of their meeting.

I laughed so hard then got angry because he is her boss! He shouldn’t be so stupid!

My response?

“He’s such a NEURON.”

Un-bee-lievable

Last week I, along with some co-workers, were feeding dead salmon to bears. As you can probably imagine, the fish reeks (and so do we). The lovely smell attracts a zillion yellow jackets. They gather on the fish, the sidewalk, and us. A real pain for anyone, but especially if you’re allergic to bees, which I am.

At one point, I was using a garden hose to spray off my hands, which were covered in fish guts. Several yellow jackets kept coming at me. So what do I do? I spray them with the hose. One pesky fellow is only inches from the nozzle and I can’t quite get him, so I change my aim, waving the hose back and forth, trying to zap him away.

Then I realize what I’ve done.

In changing my aim, I’m no longer spraying toward the ground. I’m spraying my friend JT. In the face. And he’s just standing there. In silence. Wondering what he’s done to piss me off.

Lightning Peak

My almost fearless tech, SP, who had been with me for four years and got his Master’s degree, left this weekend for a real job. Silly boy. A group of us went to dinner on Thursday to say good-bye, and someone asked if anyone knew any good/embarrassing stories about him.

I don’t know why everyone looked at me.

Another friend said, “Tell the story about Lightning Peak.”

So I did.

Last year, SP and I killed ourselves to put in the most beautiful barbed-wire hair snares anyone has ever seen. And we hiked them far off the roads to increase our chances of getting bears to come into them. Hiking them off roads in our study area meant hiking straight up. Our study area is not only very steep, it gets things called micro-cells, tiny storms that blaze through the area in minutes. When I say tiny, I mean one cloud. When I say storm, I mean full on thunder, lightning and a downpour of rain or hail. When I say minutes, I mean like five. And sometimes you will see the storm, but it will NEVER COME YOUR WAY.

One day, while SP and I were pounding barbed-wire into trees on top of a rather high ridge, I felt the wind kick up. I looked out over the horizon and saw IN THE FAR OFF DISTANCE a black cloud and a single bolt of lightning. Stupidly and quite casually, I said, “Hmm…lightning.”

SP looked up from what he was doing and said, “Oh, shit, lightning? Where? I’m out of here.” Then he dropped his tools and ran down the ridge, leaving me alone.

“Uh…Okay, I’ll just finish up,” I said as he disappeared from sight.

To this day that story makes me laugh because SP is a six-foot-tall, two-hundred pound, twenty-something male who left a five-foot-five, one hundred and thirty pound, forty-something female alone on a ridge to get struck by lightning…that never came our way.

Glamour

Being a wildlife biologist isn't as glamorous as you may think. Yes, we have seriously cool moments, but more times than not, we’re either sitting at a desk, or sweating, freezing or something to death in the great outdoors. In my case, lately, I smell. Bad. So bad in fact that when I stopped at a rest area, a little kid sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“What stinks?” he said.

I looked down at myself, my pants and shirt covered in red goo, and shook my head. What stinks? That would be me and my truck full of bear bait.

Yep, it’s a glamorous job.

I Have No Idea How I Got Here.

I went to a barbeque this weekend and someone asked how I became a wildlife biologist. Hell if I know. I didn’t grow up in the outdoors, doing outdoor sports, and given one of my first outdoor experiences, I’m surprised I ever went back into the woods.

When I was in college, I spent a year in Australia. My first week there, my fellow Americans wanted to go for a hike. I decided to tag along, even though I’d never been hiking before. Admittedly, I was quite intimidated by everyone’s gear. I had on a T-shirt, jeans and sneakers, while everyone else had on moisture-wicking tank-tops, outdoor pants and hiking boots. Hiking boots? I didn’t know there was such a thing!

Because I had no idea how to read a map, I had to rely on everyone else to tell me where we were going. When we got to the trailhead and started down the trail, I got more comfortable. I was fit and kept up just fine, even though my clothes were not “field worthy.”

After several miles, one of the girls wearing shorts screamed. She had looked at her legs and noticed black worms along her sock-line. At closer observation, we realized they were attached to her…sucking her blood. Then we realized we were all covered with them.

While most of the others screamed (even the guys) and threw hissy fits, I quietly removed the black worms. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t pleased, but I didn’t scream and throw a fit.

Several miles later, we came to a lodge. THE ACTUAL TRAILHEAD! Had we started here, we would’ve learned all about these little black LEECHES! We would’ve also gotten salt packets to help ward them off. But because the so-called outdoorsmen and women of the group couldn’t actually read a map and took us to the wrong “trailhead,” we didn’t get this information until we were half-way through our hike.

So no, this was NOT when I decided that working in the woods for a living would be cool, but it was when I realized two things about myself that helped me succeed in this business: I’m not prone to panic in crappy situations, and I like being in charge.

Years later, I learned how to read a map…and got some super cool hiking boots.

Prickly Business

Before I was a lowly grad student, I was a lowlier wildlife tech working on an Island off the coast of California. The Island was covered in cactus. When I arrived on the Island, I was issued a Leatherman. (For those of you who don’t know what a Leatherman is, see the picture to the left and notice the handy pliers).

“What’s this for?” I asked.

“Cactus,” replied my boss. Then he smiled. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

I spent twelve weeks smashing trails through fields of prickly pear cactus and evading jumping cholla like they were land mines. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of meeting a cholla cactus, they are called jumping cholla (pronounced choya) because all you have to do is walk by one and they throw spiny cactus balls at you! Spines 360 degrees around!

Occasionally, the spine of a prickly pear would spear me in the leg or slice through my boot to my foot, but that was no big deal. The Cholla were evil. And one day, I learned just how evil they were.

I was walking on my smashed prickly pear trail, minding my own business, when a spiny cholla ball flew at me and attached to the back of my calf. I didn’t realize the cholla had stuck to me until I was mid-stride…and had effectively glued the back of my calf to the back of my thigh with a ball of cactus.

Yes, that’s right folks. I found myself standing in the middle of a field of cactus on one leg! With no place to sit! Because I had a ton of spines stuck in me, I couldn’t pull my calf from my thigh. Nor could I grab the cholla ball with my hand…unless I wanted my hand to join the cholla ball party.

So yes, I thanked my boss when I finally made it back to camp, because I had somehow managed to pull the Leatherman out of my pocket and pick, spine by spine, the cholla out of my flesh without falling over into a field of cactus.

Infamy

A year after yelling at the resident about her lack of common sense, I was sitting in a bar with some friends. Unbeknownst to me, we were surrounded by a bunch of vet students, one of whom was my friend, Ben.

“Hey, Snarky,” Ben said. (Okay, he didn’t call me Snarky. He called me by name.)

“Hey, Ben,” I said.

“Wait,” said a young woman sitting with him. “You’re Snarky?”

“Uh…” I glanced at Ben for a little help. Why did this random woman think she knew who I was?

Before Ben could open his mouth, several more women leaned toward my table. “You’re Snarky?”

Ben bowed his head and started laughing, but didn’t offer assistance.

“Well,” I said, thinking they had me confused with someone else, “that’s my name, but there are a lot of us around. I don’t think…”

“You’re the one who yelled at Dr. Resident last year!” one of the very young women squealed.

“Uh…” I glanced at Ben, who was nodding his head and still laughing. Seriously, that’s what this was about? “Yeah…I guess.”

“We’ve heard about you,” another one said. “You’re a scary bitch.”

I glared at her. “You have no idea.”

I May Have an Attitude Problem

When I was but a lowly grad student, I took bears to the vet hospital monthly for body fat analysis.

And one day, I got into a tiff with a resident.

I had been bringing bears to the vet hospital for almost two years, and unfortunately for me, the two people who normally helped went onto bigger and better things. So, this time, I was stuck with a resident…who had a very big ego.

Everything went smoothly, until we were finished. We had loaded the still sleeping bears into our truck and I went back to get the data. The data that would normally be ready and waiting.

Not this time.

The resident, who I’m sure was good at her job, but apparently had zero common sense, decided this would be a good time to teach a bunch of fourth year students how to use the piece of equipment that measured body fat. She was taking them through the process of how to set up the calculations…step–by slow as molasses–step.

I stood in the doorway…and because I’m super patient *cough*… I let her ramble on for about a minute before interrupting her and calmly *cough* explaining to her that it was not appropriate to make us wait because we had GRIZZLY BEARS with us. GRIZZLY BEARS that would wake up in minutes! I suggested it might be more appropriate to use, oh I don’t know, a dog or cat as a teaching tool.

She scowled then finished the data analysis, printed it out and handed to me…still scowling.

When I got back to the truck, I said to my advisor, “FYI, I yelled at the resident because she was taking her sweet ass time teaching students how to use the DEXA.”

He nodded and said, “I wondered what took you so long.”

Later that day, I had a message on my voicemail from said resident, yelling at me and demanding an apology. Several minutes after listening to her long-winded message and wondering what I should do, my advisor sauntered into my office.

“Your favorite resident left a message on my machine,” he said. “She wanted me to know how unprofessional you were and that she expects verbal and written apologies. She also wanted me to tell you that you are but a grad student. She’s a doctor and you had no right to speak to her that way, especially in front of her students.”

She had a point, and if my advisor, who I had (and still have) the utmost respect for, wanted me to apologize, I would…*gulp*

“So…I should call her?”

“I already did,” he said. “I told her she was an idiot. I don’t think she’s expecting an apology anymore.

Did I mention how much I respected my advisor?

Disease Control

One summer, many years ago, I had some major stomach issues. Eventually, I went to the doctor and found out that I had contracted not one, not two, but three intestinal “bugs." This got me a slew of medications…and a phone call.

“Hello?” I said, answering the phone.

“This is Talk Fast Listen Later from the health department. The hospital reported that you have contracted X, Y and Z diseases, is this true?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to ask you a series of questions to try to determine where you might have contracted them. Please answer as accurately as possible.”

“Okay, but this isn’t--”

“Have you been out of the country in the past several weeks?”

“No, but--”

“Have you eaten at any restaurants in the past few weeks?”

“No, but--”

“How about fast food?”

“No.” I rolled my eyes, and because I had time, I let the idiot ask me all (100) of his stupid questions.

At the end of his survey, he sounded quite perplexed and asked, “Do you have any idea where you might have contracted the diseases?”

“Hmm…” I said as if racking my brain for an answer. “I wonder if I got them from the captive beaver colony I work with?”

Alien Abduction...of a Bear.

One Friday evening, while I was sitting on my couch, stuffing my face and watching television, I got a phone call.

“Get dressed,” my friend said.

(Did I mention it was 6pm and I was in my PJs…and my friend knows me well?)

“Why?” I asked, gearing up for a fight. If she didn’t give me a really, really, really good reason, I wasn’t getting dressed.

“A bear escaped.”

“Pick me up in five.”

On the way to the bear facility, I wondered how a bear could escape. When I got there and watched the video, I got my answer. The bear had stood on her tiptoes and pulled herself through a small hole in the ceiling. Because of the camera angle, all we saw was the bottom half of the bear, dancing, and then “POOF” she appeared to get sucked upward…as if being abducted by aliens.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering…everything turned out fine. She was stuck in a crawl space. We got her safely back to her pen…and covered the hole.

What Kind of Bears are Those?

I’m asked many questions—some dumber than others—about bears and wildlife. One such stupid question came from Joe Public just a few weeks ago when I was participating in a grizzly bear workshop. Let me be clear. This workshop was hosted by a facility that houses grizzly bears in a zoo-like setting. The bears have indoor and outdoor runs and access to a large yard with a jungle gym. It’s like a zoo, but not. We were working with an immobilized bear, when a large group of spectators began to congregate and ask questions. Many times while working at this facility, I’ve heard, “Are those grizzly bears?” and “Are those black bears?” but not until this day did I hear, “Are those captive bears?”

Miracles do Happen

This is a story for those who love dogs…and those who know my freak of an Aussie. For those of you who don’t know him, let’s just say I could write a book about his antics.

I’ve heard many stories about dogs attacking porcupines and ending up in the vet hospital with a face full of quills. A friend of mine had it happen just last week. When he told me the story, I smiled because not only do I LOVE porcupines, my dog Tucker and I saw one the same day.

While on a hike, I rounded a corner in the road. Tuck was ahead of me, watching something in the bushes and wagging his nub of a tail. He took a step toward it then looked at me and wagged again. I saw the bushes move, so I peeked in for a closer look. There it was, an adorable porcupine waddling through the brush and up the hill.

And for once in my life, Tucker listened to me...and remained quill-less.

I Have Taken My Fair Share of Bears to the Vet Hospital.

One such occasion occurred at two a.m. I got a call from a technician who was feeding the captive bears (yes, at two a.m.).

“You need to get out here,” he said.

“What happened?”

“One of the bears is injured.”

“So badly I need to get out of bed? Did you call the boss?”

“He’s not answering and his machine isn’t picking up.”

Smart man.

“I’ll be there in a few.”

Sure enough, when I arrived, one of the bears was walking funny. We got a flashlight (cause it’s dark at two a.m., we didn’t have outside lights, and the bear wouldn’t come inside) and realized one of her front paws had been torn open so badly we could see bones.

I called my boss again. No answer. Then I called the vet hospital and told them we’d be there with a sub-adult female grizzly in 45 minutes. Then, don’t ask me how (I don’t remember), but somehow, we darted the bear…in the dark.

When we arrived at the vet hospital, one resident and one fourth-year vet student were waiting for us. We pulled the bear off the truck and onto the gurney, and their eyes got huge! Nothing like instilling confidence in your clients.

The resident took a look at the paw and gave us several options. I again called my boss. After all, it was his money. When he didn’t answer, I decided on a minor procedure and antibiotics. When the vet and student started wheeling the bear toward the operating room, they looked back at us and said, “Uh…you coming?”

“Sure,” we said and followed, knowing they were scared shitless.

As the procedure progressed and the fourth year student got more comfortable with the bear and her duty as anesthesiologist, she forgot to pay attention.

“You need to give her more gas,” I said, thinking I saw signs of the bear coming out of the drug.

“Are you sure?” She blankly looked at the bear then me.

Granted, the bear had long burned through the drugs we had administered and I had never seen a bear on isoflurane before. And yes, she was the anesthesiologist, the one with the knowledge and experience with the drug, so no, I wasn’t 100% positive.

That was, until the bear lifted her head and growled.

Rocks for Brains

Sorry for missing last week folks. BOTH, yes both, of my computers died.

I thought I’d take a break from stories about me being chased by wildlife and tell another story about my not so wonderful tech, “Rock Star.”

Rock Star only lasted a month, but in that short time, he gave me quite a bit of material. I’ve told a few driving stories, but none about him. He was one of the worst.

On a particularly long day of work, he was driving toward me in a government truck and going so fast the truck caught air over small bumps in the road. When he slid to a stop next to me, I warned him to drive slowly and stay on the right side of the road, especially around blind corners.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m sorry,” was the response I got.

Five days later, I got a call at home from my boss. One of my crew members had an altercation with Josephine Public on the same day I had warned Rock Star. My crew member almost drove her off the side of the road and didn’t stop. Josephine Public chased down my crew member, demanding an apology. Surprisingly *cough* my crew member wouldn’t apologize. He said she was at fault. So she wrote his license plate number down and reported him. Hence the phone call I received.

Hence, the firing of “Rock Star.”

Killer Koalas

Okay, so they’re not that bad. Actually, they’re quite cute, but sometimes, the males can be real assholes. I was working at a zoo and feeding one such male. As I was feeding him, he climbed out of his tree and came after me. I looked at him and thought, “Are you kidding me? I’ve worked with grizzlies and porcupines and killer caribou! You don’t scare me!” But as he kept waddling after me (koalas are not fast), I wondered what I would do if it decided to climb up my leg and take a bite out of my thigh.

My first instinct was to kick the little sucker. But I quickly realized, I’d get myself in trouble. I imagined the koala flying through the air like a football and smacking against the wall. Then I envisioned myself trying to explain to the koala keepers why one of their beloved koalas was lying broken on the floor. Not wanting to deal with the wrath of the keepers, I changed my tactic.

I ran.

Out of the Frying Pan? I don’t Think so.

One day, years ago, I had to enter a several acre pen to water four caribou—three males and one female. Though the males were quite affectionate, the female had put two adult men in the hospital…and she was not fond of me.

Awesome.

When I got to the pen, the caribou were nowhere in sight. My plan was to slip in, walk down the fence line to fill the water then walk back and slip out. Everything went according to plan. That is, until I got about twenty feet from the gate on my way back from watering. The female had spotted me and she was pissed. She charged me, pinning me against the chain link fence with her antlers. With little else to do, I grabbed them and tried to push her head to the side.

Not too bright.

She reared up and struck out at me with her hooves, missing, but scaring the bejeezus out of me. Thinking I could climb the fence to escape, I looked behind me only to realize I’d climb out of the caribou pen and into a pen with a bull moose. He was standing directly behind me, wondering what all the fuss was about. He definitely would’ve put me in the hospital, if not the morgue.

Just as I thought I was toast, the three male caribou came to my rescue. Two of them chased the female away, while one escorted me safely to the gate.

Think you could do better than me? Then ask yourself this: What would you do if a cute and cuddly Koala chased you down? Or better yet, how would you handle being surrounded by a herd of wild, salt-starved bighorn sheep?

Another Chase Story.

I used to have a captive colony of porcupines. One day we brought in a new guy. His name was Arty and he was scared. Every day for two weeks, I’d try to coax him out of his little hut with an apple or carrot, but he wouldn’t budge. One day, I walked through his enclosure toward another porcupine’s habitat, apples and carrots in hand. As I walked down the hill, I heard a quick thump-thump-thump-thump behind me.

Thump-thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump.

The noise got louder and faster, and my brain slowly processed what was happening. I turned around to be sure. Just as I thought, Arty, the timid little porcupine, was chasing me down.

What did I do?

I ran. Apples and carrots in hand, I ran down the hill, chancing a quick glance over my shoulder. Arty was gaining ground. I dodged left and ran back up the hill, hurdling a log blocking the path. Then, because I didn’t know what else to do, I stopped. I had no idea why this porcupine was chasing me or what he thought he’d do, but I felt silly running from him. I turned in time to see him run up the log and launch himself off the end. I jumped back from the shock of seeing a porcupine soaring through air toward my head, an apple falling from my grasp. When Arty landed at my feet, he crawled after the apple, picked it up and started eating.

From that day on, Arty has been a friendly porcupine.

And I have felt like a complete idiot for running from him.

My Second Wolf

I saw my second wolf a couple weeks after I saw my first. It was seven in the morning and I was banding songbirds. I was standing at the back of the work truck with a bird in each hand, when my tech glanced behind us.

“Holy crap, look at that,” he whispered.

A gorgeous wolf, the kind you see in photos, stood not more than twenty feet away, watching us. Who knows how long it had been there, but when we spotted him, he stayed for a couple seconds then meandered to the stream.

What did we do?

Duh. We ran after it. My tech with his camera. Me with a songbird in each hand.

Idiot.

My, What Big Teeth You Have.

I saw my first wild wolf three years ago. One of my techs and I were driving down a meandering mountain highway with virtually no shoulder. We came around a corner and a mangy gray thing jumped in front of our truck then disappeared over the side of the road. It took me a second to process what I’d seen. The animal was so skinny and scraggly. I didn’t believe it was a wolf until my tech said, “Was that a wolf? It had on a radio collar.”

“I think it was,” I said, still uncertain.

So what did we do?

We parked the truck in the middle of the highway, got out and ran after it. We spotted it down the hill, moving slowly, stopping to look back at us every so often.

It was definitely a wolf and it was so COOL!

Now, most people probably think it’s stupid or even dangerous to run after a wolf, but wolves are NOT what the media makes them out to be. It’s WAY more stupid and dangerous to park a truck around a blind corner in the middle of a highway.

Sometimes I make stupid decisions. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I have no idea.

Wildlife biologists do a lot of stupid shit in the name of conservation. I had the opportunity to go into a bear den this week, but declined for many reasons. You tell me. Did I make the right decision?

Had I gone, this is what my weekend would’ve looked like:

Day 1: Ten-hour drive by myself to the field site. Meet up with the crew.

Day 2: One-hour drive. One-hour snowmobile ride (I hate snowmobiles as much as I hate snowshoes). Three-hour snowshoe. Roughly two hours of (really freak'n cool) work. Three-hour snowshoe. One-hour snowmobile ride. One-hour drive.

Day 3: Ten-hour drive home…

And one GIANT carbon footprint for the so-called wildlife/conservation biologist.

Training Days: I Hate Snowshoes

The first time I wore snowshoes, I was working at night, in the dark, with “Not So Much.” We hiked up a snowy mountain road, Not So Much a good nine to ten minutes ahead of me. I chased after him for hours, occasionally catching him, but only because he’d stopped to hoot for owls.

When we finally got to the top of our route, Not So Much said, “It’s all downhill from here.”

"So soon?" I huffed and puffed, too tired to take another step, but knew I had to somehow make it back to the truck.

“Let’s take a shortcut." He cracked a knowing smile.

Little did I know, taking a shortcut meant hiking straight down the mountainside, through brush and trees. Usually, not so bad. But when your feet are three times wider and longer than normal, you tend to get them caught up on a lot of stuff. And then you tend to face plant. In the snow. A lot.

After tangling myself in a bush for what felt like the thousandth time, I screamed, “I hate snowshoes!”

I can’t say it was the first time I’d seen Not So Much laugh--after all, it was dark and he was far ahead of me--but it was the first time I’d heard him.

Some People Find me Difficult to Deal with.

I went to a workshop last week where a colleague of mine told me I was complicated. Another told me I was guarded. I know I’m guarded. I’m not sure about complicated. I’m not sure I know what he meant. Perhaps he meant snarky. My snarkiness can be off-putting to people if they don’t know me (or even if they do.) I do try to contain it, especially in professional settings, but sometimes, I just can’t help myself.

For instance, when an inebriated, twenty-something guy from the workshop got in my face and said, “Hey you! You’re the one that yelled at me!” I thought about being polite. After all, I had no memory of ever meeting this kid, let alone yelling at him. But it was two in the morning, I was tired, and he was drunk. So what did I—the older, wiser, supposedly more mature and professional of the two of us—say?

“You probably deserved it.”

And I wonder why people find me difficult to deal with.

Surprise

I had a meeting this weekend. I expected it to be long. I expected people to talk down to me. I expected to have to fight for things I wanted. But none of my expectations were met. The meeting went surprisingly well.

Until we were told we would most likely lose our funding.

What does this mean?

I’m out of a job.

Surprise!

Life Sucks:

Last week:

Sick for four days.
No hot water for three.
Dog fight at seven a.m., outside in the snow, minus four degrees.
Dog bite...left thumb currently too swollen to move and definitely infected.

This week:

A trip to the doctor to get antibiotics and, unless I lie, a visit from the police to interrogate me about whose dog bit me.

Did I mention life sucks?

Training Days: Wildlife Biologist aren’t known for their people skills

Shortly after being hired by “Charismatic Guy” and “Not So Much,” I was teamed with Not So Much, a man of few words. I’d spent several long days with him. In silence. Him hiking through the woods like a gazelle. Me running and tripping over everything, trying to keep up with him. Occasionally, I tried to strike up a conversation, but he always managed to answer my questions in curt one to three word phrases. One day, after a ten-hours of hell, I decided to, once again, see if I could get the guy to talk.

“Do you have any siblings?” I asked, thinking maybe he’d tell me something about himself if I asked about his family.

“Yep.”

“Brothers or sisters?”

“Brothers.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

“Older or younger?”

“Older.”

Not known for my patience or my ability to keep my mouth shut, I snapped. “You know what? I’m done. Talking to you is worse than talking to a wall. If you decide you want to talk to me then fine, but as of this moment, I’m done trying to force you to talk!” I closed my eyes and set my head against the window of the passenger-side door, preparing myself for a summer of hell.

“So…” said Not So Much, a hint of amusement and respect in his voice.

I opened my eyes, catching the almost smile at the corners of his mouth.

“What do your parents do?”

We all do Stupid Shit when Exhausted:

My friend J is not the only one who does stupid shit with bears. One week I was stupid enough to try quitting coffee. I did it because my boss made fun of me for drinking too much. My first caffeine-free morning, I medicated a bear. The wrong one. The second morning, I opened a door to a bear pen...without kicking the bear out first. The third morning?

My boss gave me a gift card to Starbucks.

Exhausted.

Exhausted people do stupid shit. Problem is when you work with bears, stupid shit turns into dangerous shit...or spectacularly stupid shit. For example, my friend J was so tired last week, she darted the wrong bear for her research. Silly J.

This week, I’m too exhausted to write more than this.

Just Call me Clueless:

Some people are good managers. Some not so much. Where do I sit on the spectrum? I’ll let you decide.

Last week, I had to let a worker know his performance wasn’t good enough. I kept our talk short and to the point and was amazed when his work and attitude turned around. Everyone else noticed it, too! He went from being a total dud to a stud. The next day, he was equally as good. Everyone was impressed. And I patted myself on the back for being a good manager and getting the point across in a motivating way. Later that day, I mentioned to a friend that this worker had improved immensely. I figured she’d like to know because she recommended him for the job.

She laughed and said, “I told his girlfriend he was going to get fired if he didn’t turn it around. She told him if he got fired he had exactly one week to find another job or she was leaving him.”

So much for my great management skills.

Women can be Idiots, too.

Last week someone asked if I ever thought about hiring females…since the boys all seem to work out so well. I have hired females, but other than a few personality quirks, they’ve been quite good.

Not so for a friend of mine. He brought on a graduate student that was quite literally insane. At first, when we interviewed her, she was impressive. She knew a lot about bears, had read a lot of articles and asked intelligent questions. But after a bit, I realized something was off. She didn’t just like bears. She revered them. She actually uttered the words, “I worship the grizzly bear.”

Shockingly, I didn’t burst out into laughter, but I did poke fun. “So you’re really into bears,” I said in my snarky tone.

She didn’t seem to catch my sarcasm. She simply nodded and said, “Way,” as only a stoner could.

Needless to say, I was shocked when my colleague brought her on as a grad student. I wasn’t shocked when he let her go.

Another Idiot

When I was getting my master’s degree, I had a few great technicians, and one idiot. One day, we noticed a flicker had created a giant hole in our animal care building. Because this sort of thing was not up to code, we needed to fix it…before the bird finished building its nest. So I asked my idiot tech to take care of it.

Several days later, he said, “I took care of the flicker problem."

“Thanks,” I said. The next day I go out to the facility, expecting to see
something covering the hole, but the hole was still there. “How exactly did you take care of the flicker problem?” I asked.

He smirked and pointed his finger in the sky, imitating a gun.

“Hmmm…” I said, slowing letting air out of my nose. “You do know it’s illegal to shoot a flicker?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Never mind we’re on a college campus.”

“I know, but you said to take care of it, so I did.”

“You didn’t think there might be a better way? Like covering the hole?”

“Sure, but…”

I know you all know just how long this guy lasted.

Training Days:

I got my start in wildlife out of pure desperation--on my part and the part of my employer. I had been out of college for two years, had fought fires for two summers and needed a job that was less, well, fiery. So what did I do? I applied to be a hooter. No, not a waitress who wears skimpy clothes. An idiot who walks through the woods, hooting like an owl.

When I showed up to the interview, I met two men. One charismatic. The other not so much. Charismatic Guy did all the talking. “Not So Much” sat in the corner and listened.

Charismatic Guy: “What kind of outdoor experience do you have?”

Me: “I fought fires for two seasons.”

“Have you ever hiked off trail on your own?”

“No.”

“Do you know how to read a map and compass?”

“No.”

“Do you know how to drive a four-wheel-drive truck?”

“No.”

“Do you know how to hoot?”

“No.”

“Do you know what a spotted owl looks like?”

“They have spots, right?”

Charismatic Guy looked at Not So Much. They both gave pathetic “why me” sort of laughs then said, “You’re hired.”

Poor bastards.

My life could be a reality TV show:

At least that’s what one of my techs told me. “Just watching you walk through the woods is hilarious!” he said, laughing so hard he was bent over, holding his stomach.

So what had him in stitches and declaring me a reality TV moron?

After hiking all day, and not more than five yards from the truck, I stuck my hands in my pockets. Two steps later, I tripped (on nothing but air) and fell forward.

Hands in pockets.

Face in dirt.