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.