In the world of young ungulates, there are “Hiders” and “Followers.” Hiders lie down and hide while mom forages. Followers tag along. Too often when someone happens along a baby deer alone in the woods, they bring it to a vet or wildlife rehabilitator, thinking the poor fawn has been abandoned. In reality, they just abducted the baby deer. Poor deer.
One night, while driving down a single lane gravel road bordered by a large river on one side and a steep rocky incline on the other, I happened along a momma and her fawn. The fawn was old enough to follow mom at this point and was doing just that. When I came up behind them, momma deer ran for a bit then darted up the hillside, but it was too steep for baby. So it ran, and ran, and ran and ran. Not wanting to stress the poor thing out anymore, I stopped my truck, turned my headlight off and waited for it to go up the bank. After a couple minutes, I turned on my headlights. And there was deer staring right at me. So I turned them off again and waited...again. This time when I turned my lights back on, the deer had curled into a ball in the middle of the road. It was “hiding.” Only it wasn’t. It was in the middle of the road.
I honked my horn. No response. I honked again. Nothing. I got out of the truck and yelled at it. It was still hiding. I walked toward it, shouting and waving my arms about. Still nothing. Finally, I grabbed it around the waist and shook it until it bawled and its little legs wiggled with the need to escape. Then I put it on the ground, slapped it on the ass and yelled, “Natural Selection is not going to be kind to you!”
Monday, December 6, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
People never cease to amaze me:
One of my crew members got a truck stuck in the snow, almost toppling it over the edge of the road into a ravine. He did this by being a complete idiot. I don’t think he’d ever driven in the snow before and thought it would be fun to try. The only thing stopping the truck from rolling down the hill was a two-inch sapling and the fact that the truck was buried in the snow.
We dug for I don’t know how long, trying to get the rig unstuck, but it was no use. By this time, it was about eight in the evening, and did I mention…we were in the middle of nowhere. The closest town was fifteen miles down a twisting mountain road, the population of which was fifty.
To our amazement one of those fifty people was on the road with a Boy Scout troop (There were two kids in the troop). Taking pity on us, he said he’d drop off the boys then go home to get his big diesel truck to pull us out.
Yeah, right.
Well, he proved me wrong. True to his word, he returned with his truck…and his poor wife and baby. And somehow, after I don’t know how long, he managed to pull our truck free.
By the time all was said and done, it was close to midnight. We were tired and cold and had almost no idea where we were. But we were very thankful. As if he and his family hadn’t done enough, they asked if we had a place to camp. When we said no, they took us to their home, allowed us to camp in their yard and use their bathroom. This family lived in a one room house and went completely out of their way to help us. I don’t remember their names, but I will always remember their kindness.
And I will never forget the idiot who almost drove my truck off the side of a cliff.
We dug for I don’t know how long, trying to get the rig unstuck, but it was no use. By this time, it was about eight in the evening, and did I mention…we were in the middle of nowhere. The closest town was fifteen miles down a twisting mountain road, the population of which was fifty.
To our amazement one of those fifty people was on the road with a Boy Scout troop (There were two kids in the troop). Taking pity on us, he said he’d drop off the boys then go home to get his big diesel truck to pull us out.
Yeah, right.
Well, he proved me wrong. True to his word, he returned with his truck…and his poor wife and baby. And somehow, after I don’t know how long, he managed to pull our truck free.
By the time all was said and done, it was close to midnight. We were tired and cold and had almost no idea where we were. But we were very thankful. As if he and his family hadn’t done enough, they asked if we had a place to camp. When we said no, they took us to their home, allowed us to camp in their yard and use their bathroom. This family lived in a one room house and went completely out of their way to help us. I don’t remember their names, but I will always remember their kindness.
And I will never forget the idiot who almost drove my truck off the side of a cliff.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Another Driving Story:
Last summer, my lead tech, two state employees and I met at a four way intersection, each of us driving separate vehicles. We pulled all four trucks to the side of the dirt road to discuss the game plan for the rest of the day. As we talked, we heard a vehicle speeding up the hill toward us. Because it was making such a loud noise, we turned, knowing whatever was coming was big. When I saw the gargantuan motor home barrel around the corner, I silently wondered if we’d all pulled off the road far enough for it to get by. The road was barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass. My concern waned when the driver didn’t hit the brakes. He just crested the hill and bombed downward toward our vehicles. I figured if the driver had that sort of confidence, he must have had plenty of room.
Wrong.
The shriek of tearing metal was deafening. I covered my ears and watched, thinking surely the driver would stop. My truck bounced up and down as the motor home tore a hole through it and ripped off the rear taillight. Then it did the exact same thing to the truck behind mine. And the driver never once touched his brakes.
The four of us stood in a dumbfounded stupor as the driver raced down the hill, leaving the scene. Needless to say, when we caught up with the driver (which took awhile because he was driving his ginormous motor home way too fast on a narrow, twisting, gravel road with potholes and washboards), he wasn’t nearly as apologetic as the man on the four-wheeler.
Us: “Excuse me, sir, did you know you hit two state vehicles back there?”
Him: “I had no idea.”
Us, jaws dropped because how could he not have heard or felt it: “Well, you did.”
Him: “I thought there was plenty of room.”
Us: “There would’ve been if you had slowed down, but you didn’t touch your brakes once.”
Him: “Because I thought there was plenty of room, but obviously there wasn’t, so this is your fault.”
Good thing the insurance companies—all three of them—didn’t see it that way.
Wrong.
The shriek of tearing metal was deafening. I covered my ears and watched, thinking surely the driver would stop. My truck bounced up and down as the motor home tore a hole through it and ripped off the rear taillight. Then it did the exact same thing to the truck behind mine. And the driver never once touched his brakes.
The four of us stood in a dumbfounded stupor as the driver raced down the hill, leaving the scene. Needless to say, when we caught up with the driver (which took awhile because he was driving his ginormous motor home way too fast on a narrow, twisting, gravel road with potholes and washboards), he wasn’t nearly as apologetic as the man on the four-wheeler.
Us: “Excuse me, sir, did you know you hit two state vehicles back there?”
Him: “I had no idea.”
Us, jaws dropped because how could he not have heard or felt it: “Well, you did.”
Him: “I thought there was plenty of room.”
Us: “There would’ve been if you had slowed down, but you didn’t touch your brakes once.”
Him: “Because I thought there was plenty of room, but obviously there wasn’t, so this is your fault.”
Good thing the insurance companies—all three of them—didn’t see it that way.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Confessions of a Bingo Moron.
Today I’m taking a break from making fun of others to make fun of myself.
Last week I played Bingo with some co-workers. This was my third time playing bingo. My third time winning. But unless I have someone looking over my shoulder, I’m too stupid to know I’ve won. The first two times I played, I collected my earnings only because a friend of mine (the same friend both times) caught my bingo. Alas, my guardian angel was not there last week when I got bingo and didn’t realize it. Of all people, the Bingo Lady pointed it out. She glanced at my card for two seconds as she walked by, and said, “Oh look, you got bingo. Too bad it was five calls ago. Better luck next time.”
That was a proud moment.
Last week I played Bingo with some co-workers. This was my third time playing bingo. My third time winning. But unless I have someone looking over my shoulder, I’m too stupid to know I’ve won. The first two times I played, I collected my earnings only because a friend of mine (the same friend both times) caught my bingo. Alas, my guardian angel was not there last week when I got bingo and didn’t realize it. Of all people, the Bingo Lady pointed it out. She glanced at my card for two seconds as she walked by, and said, “Oh look, you got bingo. Too bad it was five calls ago. Better luck next time.”
That was a proud moment.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Joe Public
Last year I fired a kid for reckless driving. Or rather that was Rock Star’s final straw. Joe Public had called into the office to complain about him. I’d had it. So I let him go.
With that said, most of the time it’s Joe Public who drives like an idiot. I know this, so I instruct my crew to drive defensively. We’ve had many close calls with people on four wheelers. Seriously, people! You’re on four wheelers! With your two-year-old. Next to you is your five-year-old who’s driving his very own four wheeler. Where is the big bad truck supposed to go when you and your kids are taking up the whole road? Never mind none of you have on helmets and ninety percent of you are drunk and you’re all driving fast. Too fast!
Lucky for you, we have several helicopter landing sites in the area so you and/or your child can be life-flighted out when you hit the truck (‘Cause let’s face facts. The truck’s gonna win). Too bad there’s no cell phone reception.
I’ve had many encounters with drunken idiots on Quads, but one incident stands out. I was done with field work for the week and heading home. I’d just left my crew, turned on the radio and settled in for the five hour drive. Thirty seconds down the road, I heard something. Not sure what it was, I turned down the radio and listened. Still not sure, I pulled my foot off the gas. Good thing because as I rounded a bend in the road, two four wheelers (driven by men in their sixties) came whizzing at me. Of course, they were side by side…and racing. I slammed on my brakes and turned my wheel so my truck would hit the bank and not the guy heading straight for me. I don’t know how I didn’t hit him. I don’t know how he didn’t end up a hood ornament. By the time we both stopped, there were only inches between our vehicles. And I could see the fear in his eyes.
He stands out because he was the only person to ever stop and thank me for being a good driver. He admitted he and his buddy had been racing. He was profusely apologetic and grateful. Very grateful.
Now if we could only get the other idiots out there to understand…or, better yet, stop reproducing.
With that said, most of the time it’s Joe Public who drives like an idiot. I know this, so I instruct my crew to drive defensively. We’ve had many close calls with people on four wheelers. Seriously, people! You’re on four wheelers! With your two-year-old. Next to you is your five-year-old who’s driving his very own four wheeler. Where is the big bad truck supposed to go when you and your kids are taking up the whole road? Never mind none of you have on helmets and ninety percent of you are drunk and you’re all driving fast. Too fast!
Lucky for you, we have several helicopter landing sites in the area so you and/or your child can be life-flighted out when you hit the truck (‘Cause let’s face facts. The truck’s gonna win). Too bad there’s no cell phone reception.
I’ve had many encounters with drunken idiots on Quads, but one incident stands out. I was done with field work for the week and heading home. I’d just left my crew, turned on the radio and settled in for the five hour drive. Thirty seconds down the road, I heard something. Not sure what it was, I turned down the radio and listened. Still not sure, I pulled my foot off the gas. Good thing because as I rounded a bend in the road, two four wheelers (driven by men in their sixties) came whizzing at me. Of course, they were side by side…and racing. I slammed on my brakes and turned my wheel so my truck would hit the bank and not the guy heading straight for me. I don’t know how I didn’t hit him. I don’t know how he didn’t end up a hood ornament. By the time we both stopped, there were only inches between our vehicles. And I could see the fear in his eyes.
He stands out because he was the only person to ever stop and thank me for being a good driver. He admitted he and his buddy had been racing. He was profusely apologetic and grateful. Very grateful.
Now if we could only get the other idiots out there to understand…or, better yet, stop reproducing.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Oh Deer:
While there are those in the world who do not realize that fish and wildlife agencies have law enforcement officers, there are those who believe everyone who drives a state fish and wildlife vehicle is a game warden, and hence, equipped to deal with wildlife emergencies.
Case in point, I was driving through town, on a Sunday, in a state vehicle, minding my own business, when a cop pulled up beside me, honking his horn and waving his hand. Confused because he was NOT behind me and his lights were NOT flashing, I pulled into a parking lot. I became even more confused when he knocked on the passenger side window. Breathing a sigh of relief because I was buckled, I unlatched my seatbelt and unlocked the door, at which point, he opened it and said, “Thank God I ran into you. We’ve been trying to get a hold of a game warden for the past few hours. There’s a deer in the middle of the town and we need to move it, can you help us?”
“Uh...” I responded with intelligence as I thought about what he was asking me to do. As luck would have it, he flagged down a person who had access to drugs and could immobilize a deer. Problem was these things almost always went wrong. The biologist or warden or whoever was trying to do a good deed either screwed up, or the animal went crazy, or Joe Public got involved. Either way the so-called professional (that’s me) ended up looking like an ass...on YouTube. So I stammered, weighing my options, and eventually said, “Yeah, I can help.”
Fortunately, everything went smoothly. I darted the deer without any trauma, and after several minutes, it fell asleep...and about fifty people poured out of banks, bars and other businesses, hands clapping and cell phones and cameras snapping.
I gave myself a pat on the back, thinking, “Wow, not only will the deer be okay, but I made the agency look good.” Or so I thought. Everything was so anticlimactic, the event didn’t even make the local news. But we all know, had things gone wrong...the whole world would’ve seen it.
Case in point, I was driving through town, on a Sunday, in a state vehicle, minding my own business, when a cop pulled up beside me, honking his horn and waving his hand. Confused because he was NOT behind me and his lights were NOT flashing, I pulled into a parking lot. I became even more confused when he knocked on the passenger side window. Breathing a sigh of relief because I was buckled, I unlatched my seatbelt and unlocked the door, at which point, he opened it and said, “Thank God I ran into you. We’ve been trying to get a hold of a game warden for the past few hours. There’s a deer in the middle of the town and we need to move it, can you help us?”
“Uh...” I responded with intelligence as I thought about what he was asking me to do. As luck would have it, he flagged down a person who had access to drugs and could immobilize a deer. Problem was these things almost always went wrong. The biologist or warden or whoever was trying to do a good deed either screwed up, or the animal went crazy, or Joe Public got involved. Either way the so-called professional (that’s me) ended up looking like an ass...on YouTube. So I stammered, weighing my options, and eventually said, “Yeah, I can help.”
Fortunately, everything went smoothly. I darted the deer without any trauma, and after several minutes, it fell asleep...and about fifty people poured out of banks, bars and other businesses, hands clapping and cell phones and cameras snapping.
I gave myself a pat on the back, thinking, “Wow, not only will the deer be okay, but I made the agency look good.” Or so I thought. Everything was so anticlimactic, the event didn’t even make the local news. But we all know, had things gone wrong...the whole world would’ve seen it.
Monday, October 25, 2010
GENERATION Y-BOTHER:
Sorry for the two weeks off, folks. I see (and have heard) that my audience is not impressed with me. Sigh. Story of my life. So, I’m used to the nagging. I don’t give in that easily. Besides I know who you are and where you live, so watch out!
And now for the next blog:
Even in the field of wildlife biology, technology is advancing and generations are finding it more difficult to communicate. I’m a gen Xer. My techs are gen Y. I learned how to get around the woods by using a map, compass and altimeter. I was literally dumped in the middle of the woods by my boss, told to go to points A through G, and meet him back at his truck at point H at 5pm. I got lost…a lot, but I learned. And I found his truck.
My techs know how to use a GPS and claimed during the interview that they knew how to read maps and use compasses. Before we went into the field, I asked again if they knew how to read a map and use a compass. “Sure do,” they said.
If they knew how to use a map so well, why did my crew leader and I walk around a ridge for an hour looking for a hair snare they installed? Why did we have to give up searching, start cussing them out, then go back to the truck, resigned to set a new one? Why did we then look down the ridge and see the snare in the valley? ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROAD FROM WHERE THEY PLACED IT ON THE MAP!
After my crew leader and I finally baited the snare in the valley and got into our truck, he looked at me and said, “So, time for you to learn how to use a GPS?”
I did. I learned. Now I use a GPS sometimes and a map all the time. As for my techs? They still claimed they knew how to read a map and refused to let me teach them.
In the case of many of my techs, generation Y was aptly named. As in, Y-bother.
And now for the next blog:
Even in the field of wildlife biology, technology is advancing and generations are finding it more difficult to communicate. I’m a gen Xer. My techs are gen Y. I learned how to get around the woods by using a map, compass and altimeter. I was literally dumped in the middle of the woods by my boss, told to go to points A through G, and meet him back at his truck at point H at 5pm. I got lost…a lot, but I learned. And I found his truck.
My techs know how to use a GPS and claimed during the interview that they knew how to read maps and use compasses. Before we went into the field, I asked again if they knew how to read a map and use a compass. “Sure do,” they said.
If they knew how to use a map so well, why did my crew leader and I walk around a ridge for an hour looking for a hair snare they installed? Why did we have to give up searching, start cussing them out, then go back to the truck, resigned to set a new one? Why did we then look down the ridge and see the snare in the valley? ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROAD FROM WHERE THEY PLACED IT ON THE MAP!
After my crew leader and I finally baited the snare in the valley and got into our truck, he looked at me and said, “So, time for you to learn how to use a GPS?”
I did. I learned. Now I use a GPS sometimes and a map all the time. As for my techs? They still claimed they knew how to read a map and refused to let me teach them.
In the case of many of my techs, generation Y was aptly named. As in, Y-bother.
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