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.”