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.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
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
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