My net veggies at our Lagunitas Creek banding site have been punctuated by visits from strange folk. The first time I was there I completed nets 2-4, after spending the morning banding with Libby, Anna, and Irene. While finishing up net 2, a man walks down the net trail with a briefcase in his hand. We introduce ourselves and explain what our business is here in nature. It turns out he is sampling the stream because he works for a dam upstream. This is all well, but he turns out to be a talker. When he discovers that I'm sampling the plants, he warns me about poison oak and goes on to describe plants he's seen but that don't sound familiar to me. He incorrectly identifies an Alder and talks about his trip to Costa Rica. After a while I begin to make the motions to get back to work and he leaves me to sample the water. On his way back he talks a little more. He seemed harmless, just appreciative of his captive audience.
The next visit I started the morning attempting to survey net 1. While standing in Quadrant 3, trying to figure out if this blackberry clump is connected to or separate from the rest, I see a dark-grey furry-tailed cat-sized shape out of the corner of my eye. Before I can get a look at its head, it has leaped into the blackberry. I try to chase it away with my measuring stick and yelling. I think it has gone, but then it begins growling ferociously from not very far into the shrubs. It's also making loud coughing or barking-like sounds. I keep yelling, and it keeps growling. I decide that it's either rabid or feeling cornered; either way it's dangerous. I collect my things and leave the area, all to the cadence of growls and barks. At the end of the day, after completing nets 5-10, net 1 remains the only net left, but I'm tired and unwilling to face the adrenaline rush again. Matt and Amanda banded there the next day and they had a Grey Fox growling and barking at them from out in the open, so that must have been what it was.
So, today, I return to Lagunitas with only net 1 needing to be finished. When I arrive, there is a man jogging down the road, away from me, in a blue basketball-style jersey and pants. When I gather my tools and begin down the trail, I see he is now walking and looking back over his shoulder. While climbing over the fence, I notice a side trail in which someone has stashed a large black duffel bag. I'm curious, but I walk past it and get to net 1 where there are no growling animals. While setting up, I hear footsteps above me (net 1 is down low in the blackberries) and clear my throat (ahem!) in an attempt to let whatever human, animal or monster know that I'm here. I walk to where I can see, and there is the Jogging Man, carrying the black duffel bag. He is creeping carefully among what I later find out is poison oak, looking to see if anyone is around. He's not very good at making sure no one is around because he doesn't see me, and apparently didn't hear my ahem. I am thinking he must be getting ready to change out of his jogging suit and so go further down the net lane to where I can't see him. I hear some rustling, and then it's quiet. I decide it's time to get to work and go about my business. Later on, I walk uphill to measure a Bay tree (which was a whopping 84cm DBH!) and notice the black duffel has been moved, right next to the tree I need to measure. I take the measurement, and then curiosity gets the better of me. Looking around (hopefully being more aware than he was), I pull up a cover and peek inside. There's some clothes, folded neatly, and a rolled-up sleeping mat that one would use for camping. I'm not sure what I was expecting: drugs? money? a chopped up dead body? Whoever he is, if he wanted privacy, he picked the wrong site on the wrong day to stash his boring belongings.
So, I surveyed all the nets and I won't be going back. Though I'm sure if I did, some other strange person or animal would be there to greet me.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Sunday, July 15, 2007
The Barn Swallows Fledge!
The nest near the kitchen door has fledged its baby Barn Swallows. While eating breakfast this morning, I heard a scrambling at the screen door. I looked up to see a little swallow toddler clinging to the screen, looking around at the world with great curiosity. He then flew to the outside fridge and perched there watching the grown-up Barn Swallows and Cliff Swallows which were swooping around in the great blue yonder. His eyes were bright, his feathers shiny, and his courage great. He tottered a bit while preening his new beautiful wings and tail feathers, but eventually flew first to the picnic table as a staging ground, then to the roof where his brothers and sisters were hanging out getting food from mom and dad. Go Barn Swallow babies!
Thursday, July 12, 2007
The end is near
It feels like my time here at PRBO is drawing to a close. Stefanie left today, though she'll be back in a week and a half to finish things up. But I'm starting to think about packing up my stuff, mailing my guitar, how I'm getting from the Portland, ME airport up to Winter Harbor. It's very ending-like around here. We also took the group photo of the Palo summer crew today. Hummy the Hummingbird float was also present for the photo op. Matt, Gunther and Libby also cooked up a Steak & Eggs breakfast for Stefanie's last day (Stef is a big protein advocate) and so we all had a good mid-morning meal.
And also, life goes on in the grids. Today, Matt and I helped Jonathan to target-net and band nestlings. The Wrentit nestlings were there and we were successful in banding them. But, our target-netting efforts included a WREN pair and two NWCS territories but we only succeeded in capturing the White-crowned sparrow. Also, none of us had a watch with us (what kind of biologists don't wear watches?!) and so we didn't realize we had been gone for 4 hours. We got back in time to be part of the photo and to attend the meeting where Geoff also discussed his 1987 journal paper on the possible role Chernobyl played in a sudden decrease in the number of young birds captured at Palo in 1986. Then, we all went to Vladimir's for Czheck beer and pretzels.
So, it feels that things are winding down, we try to squeeze out the last drops of fun times. But there is a bittersweet feeling in the air, as if it's too good to last.
And also, life goes on in the grids. Today, Matt and I helped Jonathan to target-net and band nestlings. The Wrentit nestlings were there and we were successful in banding them. But, our target-netting efforts included a WREN pair and two NWCS territories but we only succeeded in capturing the White-crowned sparrow. Also, none of us had a watch with us (what kind of biologists don't wear watches?!) and so we didn't realize we had been gone for 4 hours. We got back in time to be part of the photo and to attend the meeting where Geoff also discussed his 1987 journal paper on the possible role Chernobyl played in a sudden decrease in the number of young birds captured at Palo in 1986. Then, we all went to Vladimir's for Czheck beer and pretzels.
So, it feels that things are winding down, we try to squeeze out the last drops of fun times. But there is a bittersweet feeling in the air, as if it's too good to last.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Baby Wrentits Are Cuter Than Plants
I exchanged a nestling banding favor for a veg survey favor today. I helped Jon band his WREN and SPTO nestlings and then he recorded data for me while I dove into the poison oak and shouted out measurement numbers. Not quite a fair trade: I had lots more fun helping with the baby birds than he did watching me scrambling around in the brush.
The baby Wrentits were really cute. Most of their feathers had broken through the pins and the new protruding feathers were of a very nice brown. They were of an age that precedes fear and they squeaked and scrambled around in my hands while I banded them and took some measurements. The Towhee babies were also cute, a bit bigger, and with funnily extended bellies. They were also squeakers and flailers and they fold up into a nice compact shape, perfectly fitting their legs, wings and heads into their rounded bodies.
The plants were decidedly less cute. I zipped up the hood on my jacket and then crackled my way through the twigs and branches to extend the measuring tape 5m into the fray. In some situations I could tell that the vegetation extended until beyond 5m, but in other cases I had to go to the end of the tape to make sure there weren't other species lurking under the poison oak.
The baby Wrentits were really cute. Most of their feathers had broken through the pins and the new protruding feathers were of a very nice brown. They were of an age that precedes fear and they squeaked and scrambled around in my hands while I banded them and took some measurements. The Towhee babies were also cute, a bit bigger, and with funnily extended bellies. They were also squeakers and flailers and they fold up into a nice compact shape, perfectly fitting their legs, wings and heads into their rounded bodies.
The plants were decidedly less cute. I zipped up the hood on my jacket and then crackled my way through the twigs and branches to extend the measuring tape 5m into the fray. In some situations I could tell that the vegetation extended until beyond 5m, but in other cases I had to go to the end of the tape to make sure there weren't other species lurking under the poison oak.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Measuring Plants
I would have thought that, after studying birds which move and bite and fly away before they're identified, that studying and measuring plants would be relaxing...
After being stung, scratched, confused, and poked in the eye many times over the past two days, I'm so ready to go back to birds. So many plants look alike to me. I'm finding that some species ID comes by feel (that stings, it's stinging Nettle; that scratches, it's blackberry; that caused my skin to burst into itchy vesicles, it must be poison oak!) and also by smell (Bay, Mugwort, Sage).
I'm also frustrated by Willows. At times they are tall and skinny and clumped into a huge tangle, so I call it a shrub. Other times, they are single, thick and tall so that it seems more like a tree. And often, a Willow or conglomeration of Willows are somewhere in the nebulous gray area between shrub and tree. So, I stand there, staring into Quadrant I, with my data sheet in front of me, trying to decide between these two categories. I'll take a couple steps in towards the plant in question. I'll take a couple steps back to get a better look. Maybe I'll take DBH. Mostly, I stand and stare and then either come to a decision that will be challenged at the next Willow, or I skip the decision to wait for further instruction from my supervisors.
It seems to me difficult to shove these diverse, multi-layered, variously sized, endlessly different tangles of vegetation onto a two sided data sheet.
After being stung, scratched, confused, and poked in the eye many times over the past two days, I'm so ready to go back to birds. So many plants look alike to me. I'm finding that some species ID comes by feel (that stings, it's stinging Nettle; that scratches, it's blackberry; that caused my skin to burst into itchy vesicles, it must be poison oak!) and also by smell (Bay, Mugwort, Sage).
I'm also frustrated by Willows. At times they are tall and skinny and clumped into a huge tangle, so I call it a shrub. Other times, they are single, thick and tall so that it seems more like a tree. And often, a Willow or conglomeration of Willows are somewhere in the nebulous gray area between shrub and tree. So, I stand there, staring into Quadrant I, with my data sheet in front of me, trying to decide between these two categories. I'll take a couple steps in towards the plant in question. I'll take a couple steps back to get a better look. Maybe I'll take DBH. Mostly, I stand and stare and then either come to a decision that will be challenged at the next Willow, or I skip the decision to wait for further instruction from my supervisors.
It seems to me difficult to shove these diverse, multi-layered, variously sized, endlessly different tangles of vegetation onto a two sided data sheet.
Owl Attack
Two nights ago, I went on an owl survey because I need the female from that pair to hoot once more. The protocol I follow states that in order to call a female a female (and therefore part of a "pair", an important designation for our records), she needs to hoot (you can sex Spotted Owls by their hoots. The female's hooting voice is higher than the male's. Both sexes whistle and bark and these vocalizations are unhelpful in determining sex.) twice at night or once during the day. This particular female had hooted once at night so far.
I arrived a little after 20:30 and was waiting for the darkness to fall more completely. I heard an owl contact whistle fairly close to me. This was not unusual, but nor was it what I had come for. I waited a bit longer, then began tape calling owl calls, a two-minute loop. I then waited in the silent dark for 10 minutes. Faintly, I could hear the male from the next drainage, hooting agitatedly. There was nothing from the owl which had been close by. I walked over to where the male was, and began voice calling. Instead of using the tape player and megaphone, I, personally, began imitating owl calls. My idea was to be further away from the owl I first heard (which was likely the female), so the distance and my voice (perhaps more real sounding than a crackly cassette tape) would reach her and incite her to hoot. Instead, the male came up the drainage to a tree right on the trail. I then heard a second owl contact whistling in that same tree. I just needed her to hoot once, just hoot so I could hear her higher pitched voice! I continued to voice call.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my left eye, I saw a blurry gray shape above my head hurtling out of the darkness towards me. I ducked, but she hit me with talons extended and with a force that was impressive for a 300g ball of feathers. I crouched on the ground and began yelling in my human voice, stopping my pretending of being an intruder owl, so she might get the idea that something was amiss, and wouldn't come down for a second strike! I then put my backpack over my head and scurried undignifiedly along the trail to where I felt it was safe again.
My heart was pounding, my forehead was scratched, and I just felt bad. Even though I was just doing my job, which is intended to monitor these birds for their continued survival and habitat conservation, it seemed to me that I had intruded on their lives tonight. I said a silent apology and hiked back to my car.
As I was leaving, I also realized I had been complimented. That owl thought I was a real owl. For better or for worse, I had entered another species' world for a brief glimpse of life as a Spotted Owl, fighting for turf in the Redwood forest. These owls aren't just cute cuddly animals that sit on a branch all day. They're that too, but they're also real individuals with real lives, and we really don't know or understand them much at all.
I arrived a little after 20:30 and was waiting for the darkness to fall more completely. I heard an owl contact whistle fairly close to me. This was not unusual, but nor was it what I had come for. I waited a bit longer, then began tape calling owl calls, a two-minute loop. I then waited in the silent dark for 10 minutes. Faintly, I could hear the male from the next drainage, hooting agitatedly. There was nothing from the owl which had been close by. I walked over to where the male was, and began voice calling. Instead of using the tape player and megaphone, I, personally, began imitating owl calls. My idea was to be further away from the owl I first heard (which was likely the female), so the distance and my voice (perhaps more real sounding than a crackly cassette tape) would reach her and incite her to hoot. Instead, the male came up the drainage to a tree right on the trail. I then heard a second owl contact whistling in that same tree. I just needed her to hoot once, just hoot so I could hear her higher pitched voice! I continued to voice call.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my left eye, I saw a blurry gray shape above my head hurtling out of the darkness towards me. I ducked, but she hit me with talons extended and with a force that was impressive for a 300g ball of feathers. I crouched on the ground and began yelling in my human voice, stopping my pretending of being an intruder owl, so she might get the idea that something was amiss, and wouldn't come down for a second strike! I then put my backpack over my head and scurried undignifiedly along the trail to where I felt it was safe again.
My heart was pounding, my forehead was scratched, and I just felt bad. Even though I was just doing my job, which is intended to monitor these birds for their continued survival and habitat conservation, it seemed to me that I had intruded on their lives tonight. I said a silent apology and hiked back to my car.
As I was leaving, I also realized I had been complimented. That owl thought I was a real owl. For better or for worse, I had entered another species' world for a brief glimpse of life as a Spotted Owl, fighting for turf in the Redwood forest. These owls aren't just cute cuddly animals that sit on a branch all day. They're that too, but they're also real individuals with real lives, and we really don't know or understand them much at all.
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