Marine Bird Survey Article

I wrote a thing!  It's very small: a quick article for the Field Notes section on the Fish and Wildlife Service website.  But since I haven't managed to post anything yet about the surveys that have been consuming my life for the past few months, you can take a look here if you're curious: KODIAK: Nearshore Marine Bird Surveys Provide Snapshot of Population Productivity.  (And check out the link to Robin's beautiful photos at the end of the article.  If you're interested in seabirds you'll enjoy them; if not, you may well become interested in seabirds after looking at them.)

Shuyak: Or, the Wild Goose Chase

Pretty much the first thing I did when I got to Kodiak was leave again.

I arrived in the evening and Robin (the refuge bird biologist, my boss and all-around excellent human being) picked me up at the airport and brought me to the bunkhouse where I promptly fell asleep, mountains imprinted on the insides of my eyelids.  The next day we went out to buy supplies, including the very Alaskan bib-overall raingear and Xtratufs.  Both of these items have proved themselves essential.

Xtratufs vs. swamp: an evenly matched battle

Later I met the people involved in our upcoming adventure: Jason, Dan and Mike, biologists from the Alaska Department of Fish and Game (ADF&G), and Scott, a wildlife veterinarian from Wisconsin.  The next morning, we were off.  Our destination: Shuyak Island.  Our quarry: Canada Geese.

Where, you might ask, is Shuyak Island?  It is the (much) smaller of two large islands directly to the north of Kodiak.  See this map?  Kodiak is the biggest island.  Just above it is Afognak.  And the little blob up at the top is Shuyak.

kodiakisland.net

You can get there by boat or float plane; we rode in the refuge's research vessel, the Ursa Major II, with Jeff at the helm.  (Jeff is in charge of everything to do with boats for the refuge, and he's exceedingly good at it.  He's also married to Robin.)  At the Ursa's cruising speed of about 8 knots (9.2 mph), the trip took 10 hours.

The wonderful Ursa Major II!

We were accompanied by Anne Marie, the refuge manager, and Rich, local birder extraordinaire.  (The refuge has a pamphlet that lists all the bird species of Kodiak, whether they breed here, how likely they are to be seen at different times of year.  Rich wrote the pamphlet.)  I spent a lot of time with Rich and Dan on the flying bridge during the trip out, watching the water.  We saw many marine birds and mammals: from flocks of tiny Red-necked Phalaropes to the stocky, penguinish Common Murres; Fin Whales, Dall's Porpoises (see below) and Sea Otters.

A Dall's Porpoise.  They like to ride the boat's bow waves.

Shuyak is 65 square miles in area -- a little larger than the city of Minneapolis.  The population in 2000 (according to Wikipedia and the US census) was four people.  We didn't see any of them.  Most of the island is a state park, so there are some lovely trails and public-use cabins.  We stayed in one of the cabins (Eagle's Nest) and Scott put a second one (Salmon Cove) to probably its first-ever use as a goose surgery.

dnr.alaska.gov

Next you might be wondering . . . Canada Geese?  They went all this way for Canada Geese?  If they're looking, we have some here at the local golf course!  But no: these are special and particular geese.  They probably descend from individuals brought at some expense and effort from Vancouver Island to Shuyak by ADF&G in the 1980's, intended to produce a breeding population for the purposes of hunting.  They belong to a subspecies of your garden variety goose: a little larger, slightly different in color, and more secretive -- as we would woefully experience firsthand.

Since the introduction of these Vancouver Canada Geese to Shuyak, no one has monitored them, so information is sparse: we don't know how many there are or where they spend the winter.  Our mission was to find some, capture them, implant satellite transmitters, and let them go again.  We had ten days and were trying for ten geese.  Seems reasonable.

The way to catch a goose during breeding season is to find a nest, set a trap, and wait for a female to come back and sit on it.  To find a nest, gather several people and have everyone walk around what looks like good nesting habitat.  Eventually, someone will walk near enough to a nest that the female sitting on it will spook and fly off.  Then you can all look around the area she flew from until you find it.  Or else maybe you'll spot the male coming or going, and be able to locate it that way.

Here is what we learned about nesting habitat.

Shuyak is absolutely beautiful.  Most of it is forests of moss-draped Sitka spruce, the ground covered in a thick cushion of moss.  As you're walking along, it occurs to you that your feet may be somewhere no other person's have been -- not in decades, anyway.

There are beaver ponds and lakes, streams and lagoons.  The beaches are rocky with a grassy band bordering the woods.  There are little headlands overlooking the water and sometimes-islands (depending on the tide) covered with clumps of grass.

We found nests in nearly all these areas.  Vancouver Canada Geese on Shuyak are remarkably versatile.  They nest in grass; they nest in moss.  They nest on islands and on headlands.  We thought they always nested near water until we found a nest way back in the woods.  They've even been known to nest in trees, although we didn't find any tree-nesters.

One possible place for a goose nest.  Photo credit: Robin

This flexibility makes it frustratingly difficult to narrow down your search area.  Add to it the fact that the females are both sneaky and brave, and might sit silently on a nest six feet away while you walk obliviously past.  All in all, the task was more difficult than anyone had expected.

So we spent most of the time tromping gloriously around the woods.  In the absence of roads, the quickest way to get from one potential search area to another was usually by boat.  We had two inflatables.  The orange one had an outboard with a broken component and was cleverly MacGyvered back into usefulness by the ADF&G guys with some rubber tubing, zip ties and a stick.  It thereafter required two people to operate: one to steer and the other to work the throttle.  The second boat, which Scott nicknamed the Gray Sea Slug, was smaller than the orange one and leaked both water and air.  So it was very exciting, and with spunk and perseverance we got along quite well.

Mike and Jason operating the stick drive

When we found a nest, we'd set up a bow-net trap: a spring-loaded metal clamshell frame enclosing a net.  Then we'd leave.  The next day we'd come back and very quietly approach to within maybe a hundred meters of the nest.  Using a remote control we'd trigger a little motor, releasing the movable half of the clamshell and (hopefully) draping the net over the goose sitting on the nest.  This could go wrong in a variety of ways: the goose wasn't there, or she wiggled away before she could be extracted and placed in a carrier, or the electronics didn't work.

Jason and Dan setting up a trap.  Photo credit: Robin

But sometimes -- six times in all -- we successfully captured a goose.  These lucky females were gently extracted from the nets, placed in dog carriers and brought by inflatable to Scott's surgery cabin.  There they were weighed, measured, banded, and anesthetized.  Then Scott performed the surgery: he made an incision in the abdomen, inserted the transmitter, and sewed them back up again.  We gave them time to recover from the anesthesia and then released them.  In all, each bird was captive for about three hours.  They all flew heartily away when freed from their kennels.  In many cases their mates met them midair, honking.

Goose release.  Look closely and you can see the antenna sticking up out of her back.

Before we'd caught any birds, Scott mentioned that he'd need an assistant.  He does all of the actual cutting and stitching and so forth, of course, but it's helpful to have a second pair of hands to unwrap tools, tweak the anesthesia levels, manually breathe for the bird if she stops doing it herself, and take notes.  He and Robin asked if I'd like to do it, and in the spirit of being in Alaska and trying anything, I said yes.  I had a little trepidation to begin with, but once we got going I felt strangely calm and actually enjoyed the process.  It's very precise and orderly, and Scott is confident and competent.  I think it sort of demystified blood and guts for me, demonstrating that it's possible to disrupt the order of the body for a little while and not have disastrous results.  The eighth-grade conscientious objector to worm dissections wouldn't recognize herself.

Goose surgery.  Photo credit: Robin

On the appointed day and time, the Ursa arrived again to pick us up.  We were all pretty exhausted -- hiking around the woods all day gets tiring eventually, especially if it's cold and rainy, which sometimes it was.  Even so, I was sad to leave.  It's really lovely being out there with no other humans around, in the beautiful soft and quiet forest.

The boat ride back was, as they say, a little nautical.  I spent a good portion of it sitting at the table in the galley, feeling a bit green.  There were certainly interesting birds and mammals, but I either missed a lot of them or was too queasy to commit them to memory.  But at the end, just as we came into the harbor channel, we encountered the first and only orcas I have ever seen!  Here they are:

And then we were back on land, returned to town.  Further stories for another time.

2010 to 2014: A Summary

Perhaps we haven't spoken in years and you would like some context for my current activities.  Here it is.

When I was three or four, I thought maybe I'd like to be an astronaut.  Then I figured that if the discomfort my ear canals experienced with the pressure change on airplanes was any indication, space travel must be excruciating.  So I rejected that possible future, and afterwards was always a little bewildered when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up.  Being grown up seemed like a very faraway state.  With all the time in between, how was I supposed to know what I'd want to be doing when I got there?

I didn't give the question much more thought until senior year of college, when I realized that grown-up was rapidly approaching.  I spent the following year mulling it over while hanging out with third-graders in the Minnesota Reading Corps and reading my way through the Minneapolis Public Library's nature section.  With the help of books like Song of the Dodo and Listening to Whales, I discovered that biology is full of intricate analytical puzzles and that it is possible to make a career out of studying nature where it lives.  When you combine these things you get something like field ecology, and that is what I want to do.  Some people do this work at universities; others for government agencies or consulting firms.  I haven't made any definite decisions about my preferences at that level of detail.  But I know I want to put math and fieldwork together to understand some part of how nature is organized.

Since then, I've done a lot of things: none of them for very long, but all of them in pursuit of this newfound goal or else to support myself along the way.  I've been very fortunate in the number of grand adventures that have been part of the process:

• The Vince Shute Wildlife Sanctuary in northern Minnesota, where I got very cozy with black bears and learned to love working outside. 
• Chasing Black-throated Blue Warblers around the woods in Vermont.
• Friday Harbor Labs in Washington state, where I learned about Pelagic Ecosystem Function and how to be a scientist.   
• A spring (or Minnesota winter) at Tall Timbers Research Station near Tallahassee, spying on Brown-headed Nuthatches.  
• And now a summer as a biological volunteer at Kodiak National Wildlife Refuge in Alaska, where I count seabirds and get to help out with all sorts of other cool projects.  (More about this to come.)  
  
  
  

Writing this all down is a little uncomfortable; in a way, I'm embarrassed at the extravagance of my good fortune.  But it also reminds me of my excitement at having found this way to be useful in the world, and my gratitude for the freedom and opportunity to pursue it.  It makes me commit again to work hard, to use my resources and my energy and the experience I have been given to help our species understand its habitat a little bit better.  So I'll get over the self-consciousness already and get back to work.

Training

One of the benefits of volunteering for the US Fish and Wildlife Service, at least in Kodiak, is that they spend a good deal of time and effort instructing you in some pretty exciting things.  We had a fairly standard (though interesting) introduction-to-the-institution talk.  We had harassment training and all that jazz.  We did first aid and CPR.  But that is not all.

There was Aviation Safety training.  Before coming to Alaska, I spent several hours completing an internet module, reading and taking quizzes on things I probably don't really need to know about how to compile a flight plan, who to ask for authorization and choosing the correct aircraft for my particular mission.  In Kodiak there was a morning classroom session with two instructors and thirty or so students.  We learned the Seven Steps to Staying Alive if Your Float Plane Crashes into the Water.  And then learned them again.  And again.  And again.  (Step one: "I'm a survivor!")  The repetition makes sense, though, because if your float plane really is crashing into the water you're going to want your escape plan as close to the surface of your memory as possible.  The presentation was a bit corny at times, but it contained useful and possibly life-saving information, so style doesn't really matter.  Plus now on commercial flights I will think to count the number of seats between me and the exit row and I'll actually read the safety card in the seat-back pocket.

A float plane like one of the ones the Refuge uses

After the classroom we spent the afternoon at the local pool putting our knowledge of the seven steps into practice.  This is colloquially known as "Dunker Training" because of the PVC-and-webbing replica of a small plane cabin they buckle you into and then push into the water.  You're required to follow the steps to successfully exit the contraption underwater three times in order to pass the course.  Some people strongly dislike the experience, but I am fond of water and found it interesting to be upside down and disoriented.  I also became convinced that it really is important to have a plan and your wits about you: you will not exit automatically or by instinct.

The dunker contraption.  Photo credit: Erynn

There was Firearm Training.  The goal of Firearm Training for most people is to become certified to carry a shotgun in the field for last-resort defense of yourself and others against bears.  Since this is not really an issue when living and working aboard boats, I did not need to be certified.  Luckily so, since my goals were somewhat more modest: not to injure myself or anyone else during training and to come away from it not quite so indiscriminately, paralyzingly terrified of firearms as I was at the beginning.  By these measures it was a success.  I am grateful for the patience and understanding of the various people who instructed us at the shooting range.

Better Late Than Never

Hello, world!  Hello, friends and family!  I've been off having adventures for awhile now but I haven't been very diligent about sharing them with you.  Several years into my scattered post-college explorations, it occurs to me that a blog might be a useful tool.  It won't always be ideal, since I've recently lived in several places without internet access or electricity and I hope eventually to live in many more.  But my current situation has both, so while I lack a little in rustic charm I'm going to give this blogging thing a try.

First: if you haven't heard from me in awhile, I'm sorry!  I'm in constant awe of the amazing people who continue to make appearances in my life: the new friends I meet, and the old ones who tolerate my sporadic presence and communication blackouts.  Even when we're living in the same city, I'm not always good about staying in touch; when I'm halfway across the country, I am terrible about letting good friendships languish when they shouldn't.  It's taken me many more years than it should have to realize that this is not inevitable.  Progress is slow, but I'm doing my best to be more intentional about maintaining connections.  So: I am grateful for your existence, even if we haven't spoken in years.  I would love to hear about your life and I promise to respond even if I am slow about it.

Okay -- end heartfelt paragraph.  On to logistics and adventure.  Here are all my plans:

1. Right now I'm a volunteer at Kodiak National Wildlife Refuge.  More on that in later posts but, in summary, I'm soaking up as much experience as I can with birds, boats, statistics, and anything else people will let me help with.  I'll be here until the middle of October.
2. Then I'll spend about a month traveling south to San Diego: itinerary still to be determined.  (If you'll be located on the west coast this fall and might like to say hello, let me know -- I'd be delighted to see you!)
3. From San Diego I leave for a few weeks as a volunteer on an oceanographic research vessel run by California Cooperative Oceanic Fisheries Investigations.
4. Then I'll try frantically to make it through the throngs of travelers to arrive home by Thanksgiving.  And after that -- who knows??

Eventually I'll edit all my pictures and post them somewhere, but here's one for now.  The Kodiak airport -- a 10-minute walk from my house.