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.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, July 11, 2011
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.
“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.
Monday, July 4, 2011
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.”
“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.”
Monday, June 27, 2011
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?
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?
Monday, June 20, 2011
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?”
“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?”
Monday, June 13, 2011
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.
“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.
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