Day two in the field started out not so swell. At least, not for me. Because I can’t cross a river to save my life. I have no balance. So walking across a log from one river bank to another is akin to walking a tightrope. As if walking across a downed tree isn’t bad enough, Cougar Hunter picked a tree a good ten feet above the rushing river-—have I mentioned I’m afraid of heights? Granted the tree was wide, but it was covered in snow and ice.
As I watched Cougar Hunter cross with ease, I gave myself a pep talk. I could do this. It wasn’t that bad. Just one foot in front of the other.
Next to go was the houndsman—-with a dog in tow—-not an easy feat, but he made it look easy.
I could do this. I really could.
And I tried. I really did. I stood on the edge of the log, willing my feet to move, but they wouldn't. They were cemented to the snow and ice, frozen with fear.
So how did I get across?
I, the experienced and professional wildlife biologist, straddled the freaking log and scooted my way across. Mind you, I was petrified and my entire body was trembling. And it took what felt like a day for me to get across. Nothing like coming out to "help" and holding up the show.
To make matters worse, Jasmine, my dear friend who has spent but a handful of days in the woods, skipped across the stupid log like she was playing freaking hopscotch.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
A Weekend in the Field with Cougar Hunter...
Last weekend, Jasmine and I went into the field to help Cougar Hunter. In those two days, we learned just how “tough” we are.
And I got several weeks’ worth of blogs.
The first day, Cougar Hunter took us out on snowmobiles. Jasmine rode with the houndsman (not THE HOUNDSMAN) while I rode with Cougar Hunter. Jasmine was excited. This was her first time on a snowmobile. I was not--I’m certain I’ve blogged about what a great snowmobiler I am.
But once I realized how skilled Cougar Hunter was at driving a snow machine, I relaxed. He was so good at driving the snow machine, I didn’t flinch when he drove onto a steep and narrow path on the side of the mountain. A mountain we could’ve tumbled down. Hell, I was so confident in Cougar Hunter, I stayed relaxed when we were no longer snowmobiling, but speed boating with snowmobiles on ponds of water.
So yeah, I was proud of him and me, ’cause I was relaxed.
That was, until he launched the snowmobile off a “bump” in the “road” and I almost went hurtling off the back end.
Oh yeah, it promised to be fun weekend.
And I got several weeks’ worth of blogs.
The first day, Cougar Hunter took us out on snowmobiles. Jasmine rode with the houndsman (not THE HOUNDSMAN) while I rode with Cougar Hunter. Jasmine was excited. This was her first time on a snowmobile. I was not--I’m certain I’ve blogged about what a great snowmobiler I am.
But once I realized how skilled Cougar Hunter was at driving a snow machine, I relaxed. He was so good at driving the snow machine, I didn’t flinch when he drove onto a steep and narrow path on the side of the mountain. A mountain we could’ve tumbled down. Hell, I was so confident in Cougar Hunter, I stayed relaxed when we were no longer snowmobiling, but speed boating with snowmobiles on ponds of water.
So yeah, I was proud of him and me, ’cause I was relaxed.
That was, until he launched the snowmobile off a “bump” in the “road” and I almost went hurtling off the back end.
Oh yeah, it promised to be fun weekend.
Monday, January 23, 2012
YOU BETTER BE TOUGH IF YOU’RE GONNA BE STUPID:
This is Cougar Hunter’s motto. And for good reason. Sometimes he’s not too bright. But he sure is tough.
Last week Cougar Hunter darted a cougar in a tree next to a stream. For those of you who do not understand the problem with darting a cat next to a stream, you’ll soon find out.
To give Cougar Hunter credit, in his study area, every tree is near a stream, but just as Cougar Hunter feared, the cat jumped from the tree and ran…after it was darted. Cougar Hunter tracked the cat through a foot of snow and across the stream roughly eight times. The last time he came to the stream, he didn’t see tracks on the other side. But when he looked upriver, he saw the cat hanging over a log, face down in the water.
Just as he had feared.
Cougar Hunter ran up the creek—-in thigh-high, freezing cold water—-grabbed the cat by the collar and pulled its head out of the stream, only to have the cat turn on him and try to take his face off. Somehow Cougar Hunter kept hold of the cat, while standing in the middle of the rushing water, and injected it with more drug. Then he dragged the 165 pound male cougar to an island in the middle of the stream and recollared it. Fifty minutes later, his “help” showed up. They carried the cat across the stream to a spot far enough away from the water that it wouldn’t drown itself as it woke up.
I’m not that tough. Had this been me, I’d have died from hypothermia. Or I would’ve been cougar bait. But then again, I’m not that stupid.
Last week Cougar Hunter darted a cougar in a tree next to a stream. For those of you who do not understand the problem with darting a cat next to a stream, you’ll soon find out.
To give Cougar Hunter credit, in his study area, every tree is near a stream, but just as Cougar Hunter feared, the cat jumped from the tree and ran…after it was darted. Cougar Hunter tracked the cat through a foot of snow and across the stream roughly eight times. The last time he came to the stream, he didn’t see tracks on the other side. But when he looked upriver, he saw the cat hanging over a log, face down in the water.
Just as he had feared.
Cougar Hunter ran up the creek—-in thigh-high, freezing cold water—-grabbed the cat by the collar and pulled its head out of the stream, only to have the cat turn on him and try to take his face off. Somehow Cougar Hunter kept hold of the cat, while standing in the middle of the rushing water, and injected it with more drug. Then he dragged the 165 pound male cougar to an island in the middle of the stream and recollared it. Fifty minutes later, his “help” showed up. They carried the cat across the stream to a spot far enough away from the water that it wouldn’t drown itself as it woke up.
I’m not that tough. Had this been me, I’d have died from hypothermia. Or I would’ve been cougar bait. But then again, I’m not that stupid.
Monday, January 16, 2012
NOT FUNNY, BUT TRUE:
This weekend I realized, as I was flying to California, that I pretty much hate motorized transportation. It just scares me. I also realized I will never be a great wildlife biologist for one very important reason: I hate flying. I hate flying more than I hate snowshoes and snowmobiles. I hate flying so much, I have to drug myself to get on a commercial airplane.
When I was younger, I rode in many helicopters, but now that I’m older, I refuse to get into a helicopter or a fixed-wing aircraft. Too many people in my field die this way.
About five years ago, I was radio-collaring deer. To capture the deer, a wildlife biologist would hang out of a helicopter and shoot a deer with a net. Then the pilot would land the ship so two muggers could jump out and tie the netted deer to the helicopter. Then they would fly it back to those of us on the ground so we could put a radio collar on it. One of the guys in charge, for some reason, really, really, really wanted me to get in the helicopter and be a mugger. He spent the entire day, telling me how safe it was and how good the pilot was. I didn’t doubt the pilot was good, but I KNOW helicopters are not safe. And he didn’t know me. If he did, he wouldn’t have wasted his breath. There was no way I was getting on that thing.
Four weeks later—this is not a joke—that specific helicopter, working on the same project, with the same pilot and gunner, crashed.
Thankfully, everyone survived…
And no one has tried to get me into a helicopter since.
When I was younger, I rode in many helicopters, but now that I’m older, I refuse to get into a helicopter or a fixed-wing aircraft. Too many people in my field die this way.
About five years ago, I was radio-collaring deer. To capture the deer, a wildlife biologist would hang out of a helicopter and shoot a deer with a net. Then the pilot would land the ship so two muggers could jump out and tie the netted deer to the helicopter. Then they would fly it back to those of us on the ground so we could put a radio collar on it. One of the guys in charge, for some reason, really, really, really wanted me to get in the helicopter and be a mugger. He spent the entire day, telling me how safe it was and how good the pilot was. I didn’t doubt the pilot was good, but I KNOW helicopters are not safe. And he didn’t know me. If he did, he wouldn’t have wasted his breath. There was no way I was getting on that thing.
Four weeks later—this is not a joke—that specific helicopter, working on the same project, with the same pilot and gunner, crashed.
Thankfully, everyone survived…
And no one has tried to get me into a helicopter since.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Near Miss:
I have worked at many zoos and captive animal facilities and have seen and done many stupid things. I count myself fortunate enough to have friends who, though normally smart, do stupid things as well. Then they do an even dumber thing by telling me about it.
Several years ago, one such friend was working as a bear keeper at a zoo. He brought the bears inside to feed them then went to the outside exhibit to clean.
Then he heard something behind him.
He turned to see two bears running at him and realized he’d forgotten to put all the bears inside. As the bears raced toward him, he pressed himself against a wall of the exhibit, sure he was a goner. But the bears didn’t touch him. Instead they ran past him, stood on their hind legs and banged on the door to be let inside. Before he had a chance to make a break for it, both bears stopped pounding and turned to look at him as if to say, “Well, what are you waiting for? Get in there and feed us!”
Several years ago, one such friend was working as a bear keeper at a zoo. He brought the bears inside to feed them then went to the outside exhibit to clean.
Then he heard something behind him.
He turned to see two bears running at him and realized he’d forgotten to put all the bears inside. As the bears raced toward him, he pressed himself against a wall of the exhibit, sure he was a goner. But the bears didn’t touch him. Instead they ran past him, stood on their hind legs and banged on the door to be let inside. Before he had a chance to make a break for it, both bears stopped pounding and turned to look at him as if to say, “Well, what are you waiting for? Get in there and feed us!”
Monday, January 2, 2012
HOLY SHEEP!
I’ve seen a lot of people do stupid shit around wild animals. And no, they’re not just wildlife biologists. Wildlife biologists are trained professionals. We take calculated risks. And yes, many times we screw up and do stupid shit. But we don’t think wild animals are our friends. We don’t think we have a special bond with them. And we don’t try to pet them.
Stupid people do.
One day, when I was in the wilds of Canada, riding my bike, I was forced to stop behind a car parked in the middle of the road. The driver was taking pictures of a herd of bighorn sheep. But he wasn’t stupid. He stayed in the car.
I didn’t have a car. I had a bike, spandex, and funny biking shoes that I could barely walk in.
So when the sheep—did I mention they had big horns?—swarmed me, licked my arms and legs, and then peeled the handlebar tape off my bike, what do you think I did?
That’s right, I, the big brave professionally trained wildlife biologist, dropped my bike, waded through the herd, and jumped into a complete stranger’s car…
…while my dumbass boyfriend—who was not a trained professional—took pictures and tried to pet the sheep.
Stupid people do.
One day, when I was in the wilds of Canada, riding my bike, I was forced to stop behind a car parked in the middle of the road. The driver was taking pictures of a herd of bighorn sheep. But he wasn’t stupid. He stayed in the car.
I didn’t have a car. I had a bike, spandex, and funny biking shoes that I could barely walk in.
So when the sheep—did I mention they had big horns?—swarmed me, licked my arms and legs, and then peeled the handlebar tape off my bike, what do you think I did?
That’s right, I, the big brave professionally trained wildlife biologist, dropped my bike, waded through the herd, and jumped into a complete stranger’s car…
…while my dumbass boyfriend—who was not a trained professional—took pictures and tried to pet the sheep.
Monday, December 26, 2011
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.”
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.”
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