Another Chase Story.

I used to have a captive colony of porcupines. One day we brought in a new guy. His name was Arty and he was scared. Every day for two weeks, I’d try to coax him out of his little hut with an apple or carrot, but he wouldn’t budge. One day, I walked through his enclosure toward another porcupine’s habitat, apples and carrots in hand. As I walked down the hill, I heard a quick thump-thump-thump-thump behind me.

Thump-thump-thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump.

The noise got louder and faster, and my brain slowly processed what was happening. I turned around to be sure. Just as I thought, Arty, the timid little porcupine, was chasing me down.

What did I do?

I ran. Apples and carrots in hand, I ran down the hill, chancing a quick glance over my shoulder. Arty was gaining ground. I dodged left and ran back up the hill, hurdling a log blocking the path. Then, because I didn’t know what else to do, I stopped. I had no idea why this porcupine was chasing me or what he thought he’d do, but I felt silly running from him. I turned in time to see him run up the log and launch himself off the end. I jumped back from the shock of seeing a porcupine soaring through air toward my head, an apple falling from my grasp. When Arty landed at my feet, he crawled after the apple, picked it up and started eating.

From that day on, Arty has been a friendly porcupine.

And I have felt like a complete idiot for running from him.

My Second Wolf

I saw my second wolf a couple weeks after I saw my first. It was seven in the morning and I was banding songbirds. I was standing at the back of the work truck with a bird in each hand, when my tech glanced behind us.

“Holy crap, look at that,” he whispered.

A gorgeous wolf, the kind you see in photos, stood not more than twenty feet away, watching us. Who knows how long it had been there, but when we spotted him, he stayed for a couple seconds then meandered to the stream.

What did we do?

Duh. We ran after it. My tech with his camera. Me with a songbird in each hand.

Idiot.

My, What Big Teeth You Have.

I saw my first wild wolf three years ago. One of my techs and I were driving down a meandering mountain highway with virtually no shoulder. We came around a corner and a mangy gray thing jumped in front of our truck then disappeared over the side of the road. It took me a second to process what I’d seen. The animal was so skinny and scraggly. I didn’t believe it was a wolf until my tech said, “Was that a wolf? It had on a radio collar.”

“I think it was,” I said, still uncertain.

So what did we do?

We parked the truck in the middle of the highway, got out and ran after it. We spotted it down the hill, moving slowly, stopping to look back at us every so often.

It was definitely a wolf and it was so COOL!

Now, most people probably think it’s stupid or even dangerous to run after a wolf, but wolves are NOT what the media makes them out to be. It’s WAY more stupid and dangerous to park a truck around a blind corner in the middle of a highway.

Sometimes I make stupid decisions. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I have no idea.

Wildlife biologists do a lot of stupid shit in the name of conservation. I had the opportunity to go into a bear den this week, but declined for many reasons. You tell me. Did I make the right decision?

Had I gone, this is what my weekend would’ve looked like:

Day 1: Ten-hour drive by myself to the field site. Meet up with the crew.

Day 2: One-hour drive. One-hour snowmobile ride (I hate snowmobiles as much as I hate snowshoes). Three-hour snowshoe. Roughly two hours of (really freak'n cool) work. Three-hour snowshoe. One-hour snowmobile ride. One-hour drive.

Day 3: Ten-hour drive home…

And one GIANT carbon footprint for the so-called wildlife/conservation biologist.

Training Days: I Hate Snowshoes

The first time I wore snowshoes, I was working at night, in the dark, with “Not So Much.” We hiked up a snowy mountain road, Not So Much a good nine to ten minutes ahead of me. I chased after him for hours, occasionally catching him, but only because he’d stopped to hoot for owls.

When we finally got to the top of our route, Not So Much said, “It’s all downhill from here.”

"So soon?" I huffed and puffed, too tired to take another step, but knew I had to somehow make it back to the truck.

“Let’s take a shortcut." He cracked a knowing smile.

Little did I know, taking a shortcut meant hiking straight down the mountainside, through brush and trees. Usually, not so bad. But when your feet are three times wider and longer than normal, you tend to get them caught up on a lot of stuff. And then you tend to face plant. In the snow. A lot.

After tangling myself in a bush for what felt like the thousandth time, I screamed, “I hate snowshoes!”

I can’t say it was the first time I’d seen Not So Much laugh--after all, it was dark and he was far ahead of me--but it was the first time I’d heard him.

Some People Find me Difficult to Deal with.

I went to a workshop last week where a colleague of mine told me I was complicated. Another told me I was guarded. I know I’m guarded. I’m not sure about complicated. I’m not sure I know what he meant. Perhaps he meant snarky. My snarkiness can be off-putting to people if they don’t know me (or even if they do.) I do try to contain it, especially in professional settings, but sometimes, I just can’t help myself.

For instance, when an inebriated, twenty-something guy from the workshop got in my face and said, “Hey you! You’re the one that yelled at me!” I thought about being polite. After all, I had no memory of ever meeting this kid, let alone yelling at him. But it was two in the morning, I was tired, and he was drunk. So what did I—the older, wiser, supposedly more mature and professional of the two of us—say?

“You probably deserved it.”

And I wonder why people find me difficult to deal with.

Surprise

I had a meeting this weekend. I expected it to be long. I expected people to talk down to me. I expected to have to fight for things I wanted. But none of my expectations were met. The meeting went surprisingly well.

Until we were told we would most likely lose our funding.

What does this mean?

I’m out of a job.

Surprise!