Happy Friday everyone!
I think I’m going to enjoy this habit of sitting down at my kitchen table each Friday morning and writing for an hour before work, nursing a cup of coffee and nibbling on my bagel with nutella spread.
I have a small confession to make. Despite working almost exclusively with scientists this summer, I myself have not been officially trained as one. I received my BFA from the University of Michigan’s School of Art and Design, as well as an environmental science minor. What I do have in my favor is three summers as a North Cascades interpreter and a passion for learning and teaching.
So, with that little disclaimer, my perspective in this blog is one where I am half-outsider and half-insider of the scientific community. As my Dad says about his Chinese language skills, I know just enough to get me into trouble. I’ll do my best to report science accurately, but please let me know of any discrepancies. This also is not a 100% official NPS blog, though I hope we can move towards that direction. As of now, this is an exercise in communicating science in a more narrative, personal way.
Friday, May 30, 2008
A Prairie Park Companion
This week’s travel started out with déjà vu as I rolled out of bed at 4:30am and felt that familiar mix of excitement and fatigue. All my supplies were laid out from the night before—even a cup of coffee ready to be nuked in the microwave—and I got on the road as quickly as I could. I had to catch the 6:10 ferry out of Anacortes or risk being two hours late to training on San Juan Island. And that wouldn’t make for a good first impression, right?
While I wasn’t able to shadow any teams in the field this week, I was invited to sit in on the seasonal interpretation training at SAJH, San Juan National Historic Park. The islands that make up this beautiful archipelago were once in a boundary dispute between the United States and Britain in the mid-1800’s. Two camps were established on either end of the island and we almost escalated into war over the shooting of a pig. The park manages many of the original buildings at American and English camp and as I discovered, the cultural landscape was deeply affected by the natural one and vice-versa.
After an hour and a half ferry ride, we emerged out of the fog at the port city, Friday Harbor. I had forgotten how peaceful and quiet the islands are; they cling low to the horizon like half-submerged arms offering protective coves and safe passage. My last visit was two years ago on a solo bike trip and the islands seem timeless and unchanged since then.
The superintendent, Peter Dederich, was gracious enough to drive me in their new hybrid vehicle from park headquarters to the visitor center at American camp, a trip that seemed much shorter than when I had to bike it myself. Introductions were made over coffee and donuts and our small group settled in for the first of the day’s presentations. Because the nature of seasonal training can be an overwhelming amount of information and because the topics didn’t always apply to my job communicating inventory and monitoring, I’ll just go through some highlights:
-The San Juan Islands are home to around 4,000 harbor seals with about 1,000 born each year. Unfortunately, the pupping season, late June through early August, coincides with peak tourist visitation. Strandings and injuries do occur but we’ve got one of the best animal rehabilitation centers in the region located on the island, Wolf Hollow.
-There are four different decomposition stages for marine mammals found on beaches: fresh kill, dead stinky, dead ugly, and mummified/skeleton. The powerpoint slides of dolphins with exposed entrails were the perfect appetizers for our lunch break. Mmmmm.
-One of orca celebrities, Granny, from the J-Pod, is estimated to have been born in 1911!
Christopher Davis finished off the day with an introduction to one of the island’s more unique natural resources, the 684-acre (1.1 sq mile) prairie at American Camp. Prairies were once wide-ranging in the Western Washington landscape but now are severely fragmented and rare. Many were converted to farmland and at American camp, originally Bellevue Farm, over 4,000 sheep, cattle, horses and pigs once grazed in the 19th century.
Ebey’s Landing National Historic Reserve also has 3,000-acres of prairie and together with SAJH, they are monitoring prairie vegetation communities. In addition to prairies, SAJH also monitors climate, landscape dynamics, intertidal and landbirds.
Unfortunately, non-native plants and rabbits are negatively impacting the health of the prairie and restoration efforts are currently underway. Christopher shared numerous misconception or “urban legends” that the public still hold as true:
“Rabbits are good for the soil because their holes provide aeration”
-Actually, they dig too deep and bring up nutrient-poor glacial till.
“If we remove the rabbits, we remove an important food source for raptors.”
-While this is sorta true for the raptors living around the prairie, their consumption of rabbits is way out of proportion for normal raptor diet.
“The government released a virus to kill the rabbits in the 80’s.”
-Ummm, no.
This last point sparked an exciting discussion amongst the group and what they had heard from the public. I had no idea that the rabbits were such a contentious issue (if they weren’t so cute and reminiscent of Thumper, no one would care about removing this invasive species).
There was also a lively reenactment by a prominent staff member, intentionally left nameless, who once hurled a wooden flag pole like a javelin at a bullying pheasant that someone had released illegally in the park.
The only story I could contribute was about Clark’s Cabin in Marblemount. Years ago, the owners had brought some of the San Juan Island rabbits back to their restaurant/lodge and the animals quickly bred like, well, rabbits. Visitors can now pick up stale bread from the back of the restaurant and feed the rabbits much like one feeds ducks in a park. It’s a surreal and scary experience to see twenty rabbits bounding towards you and your bread.
Okay, I’m clearly rambling at this point and should wrap things up. San Juan National Historic Park might not have the sublime majesty of the three larger parks in Washington, but I believe there can be a more intimate experience with its landscape and our own cultural history. Because the human story is so intertwined with the natural resources, I’m not sure if communicating prairie restoration and monitoring becomes easier or more difficult.
I’m realizing that the value of these field trips isn’t necessarily based on how much I learn, but about the connections I make with other NPS employees. I’m continually meeting people who are passionate and excited about what they do and I’m proud to be part of such an organization.
Special thanks to: Peter Dederich, Darlene Wahl, Mike Vouri, Christopher Davis, and Cousin Vinnie’s Authentic NY Café.
While I wasn’t able to shadow any teams in the field this week, I was invited to sit in on the seasonal interpretation training at SAJH, San Juan National Historic Park. The islands that make up this beautiful archipelago were once in a boundary dispute between the United States and Britain in the mid-1800’s. Two camps were established on either end of the island and we almost escalated into war over the shooting of a pig. The park manages many of the original buildings at American and English camp and as I discovered, the cultural landscape was deeply affected by the natural one and vice-versa.
After an hour and a half ferry ride, we emerged out of the fog at the port city, Friday Harbor. I had forgotten how peaceful and quiet the islands are; they cling low to the horizon like half-submerged arms offering protective coves and safe passage. My last visit was two years ago on a solo bike trip and the islands seem timeless and unchanged since then.
The superintendent, Peter Dederich, was gracious enough to drive me in their new hybrid vehicle from park headquarters to the visitor center at American camp, a trip that seemed much shorter than when I had to bike it myself. Introductions were made over coffee and donuts and our small group settled in for the first of the day’s presentations. Because the nature of seasonal training can be an overwhelming amount of information and because the topics didn’t always apply to my job communicating inventory and monitoring, I’ll just go through some highlights:
-The San Juan Islands are home to around 4,000 harbor seals with about 1,000 born each year. Unfortunately, the pupping season, late June through early August, coincides with peak tourist visitation. Strandings and injuries do occur but we’ve got one of the best animal rehabilitation centers in the region located on the island, Wolf Hollow.
-There are four different decomposition stages for marine mammals found on beaches: fresh kill, dead stinky, dead ugly, and mummified/skeleton. The powerpoint slides of dolphins with exposed entrails were the perfect appetizers for our lunch break. Mmmmm.
-One of orca celebrities, Granny, from the J-Pod, is estimated to have been born in 1911!
Christopher Davis finished off the day with an introduction to one of the island’s more unique natural resources, the 684-acre (1.1 sq mile) prairie at American Camp. Prairies were once wide-ranging in the Western Washington landscape but now are severely fragmented and rare. Many were converted to farmland and at American camp, originally Bellevue Farm, over 4,000 sheep, cattle, horses and pigs once grazed in the 19th century.
Ebey’s Landing National Historic Reserve also has 3,000-acres of prairie and together with SAJH, they are monitoring prairie vegetation communities. In addition to prairies, SAJH also monitors climate, landscape dynamics, intertidal and landbirds.
Unfortunately, non-native plants and rabbits are negatively impacting the health of the prairie and restoration efforts are currently underway. Christopher shared numerous misconception or “urban legends” that the public still hold as true:
“Rabbits are good for the soil because their holes provide aeration”
-Actually, they dig too deep and bring up nutrient-poor glacial till.
“If we remove the rabbits, we remove an important food source for raptors.”
-While this is sorta true for the raptors living around the prairie, their consumption of rabbits is way out of proportion for normal raptor diet.
“The government released a virus to kill the rabbits in the 80’s.”
-Ummm, no.
This last point sparked an exciting discussion amongst the group and what they had heard from the public. I had no idea that the rabbits were such a contentious issue (if they weren’t so cute and reminiscent of Thumper, no one would care about removing this invasive species).
There was also a lively reenactment by a prominent staff member, intentionally left nameless, who once hurled a wooden flag pole like a javelin at a bullying pheasant that someone had released illegally in the park.
The only story I could contribute was about Clark’s Cabin in Marblemount. Years ago, the owners had brought some of the San Juan Island rabbits back to their restaurant/lodge and the animals quickly bred like, well, rabbits. Visitors can now pick up stale bread from the back of the restaurant and feed the rabbits much like one feeds ducks in a park. It’s a surreal and scary experience to see twenty rabbits bounding towards you and your bread.
Okay, I’m clearly rambling at this point and should wrap things up. San Juan National Historic Park might not have the sublime majesty of the three larger parks in Washington, but I believe there can be a more intimate experience with its landscape and our own cultural history. Because the human story is so intertwined with the natural resources, I’m not sure if communicating prairie restoration and monitoring becomes easier or more difficult.
I’m realizing that the value of these field trips isn’t necessarily based on how much I learn, but about the connections I make with other NPS employees. I’m continually meeting people who are passionate and excited about what they do and I’m proud to be part of such an organization.
Special thanks to: Peter Dederich, Darlene Wahl, Mike Vouri, Christopher Davis, and Cousin Vinnie’s Authentic NY Café.
Friday, May 23, 2008
If Ranger Mike was a bird, his abbreviation would be RAMI and his call would be cafeeeeeeeeeeine, cafeeeeeeeeeeine
So this is what 5am looked like, I thought as I started up my station wagon. Staring bleary-eyed through my windshield, I was surprised at the amount of light in the sky.
Why, you may ask, was I getting up at this un-Godly hour on my first day of the weekend?
To go birding, of course.
I was to shadow the Landbird monitoring team as they honed their field skills in Marblemount. Their spring training was nearly complete and they were practicing for an exam that, in order to pass, they needed to recognize 49 out of 50 birds by sight and song. Since their subjects were most active during the early dawn hours, we too had to wake up with sun.
And I guessed, with the light brushing the underbellies of the clouds a bright pink and the valley aglow in a golden haze, there was something special about being awake while the rest of the world was still sleeping. Well, the human world at least. The birds, as I soon found out, were already engaged in a full symphony of twitters and trills.
The six-member team met me at the boat launch along the Skagit River and I was surprised at their age. Everyone was in their twenties and I was impressed at their ability to function before 10:00 on a Saturday morning. Good-natured and quick to laugh, they clearly enjoyed their jobs. The requisite binoculars hung around their necks and I imagined that they probably felt naked without them. The group greeted me warmly and I quickly found out that two of the birders were from Ann Arbor, where I recently graduated from college.
Walking with birders was like walking in a foreign country where your companions all spoke the language and you didn't. Their hyperawareness to the audible world was uncanny and they often stopped mid-sentence or mid-stride to follow a sound that flitted through the branches nearby. The group would raise their binoculars together in what appeared to be a choreographed movement and it reminded me of sleeping geese who would raise their long necks in unison whenever startled.
They tried to explain this world that they are privy to and offered the mnemonics that helped them remember the bird songs. The Black-capped Chickadee goes chickadee-dee-dee and cheeseburger. Cassidy pointed out that many phonetic spellings have to do with food and he imagined it was because of researchers going hungry while waiting out in the woods (Olive-sided Flycatcher chips a quick, three beers!). I listened intently but couldn't quite organize all these new sounds.
Mandy Holmgren, the team leader, stopped to do a 5-minute point count. This is similar to the work that they will be doing in Mount Rainier, Olympic, North Cascades and Fort Lewis and Clark this summer. For a set amount of time, they stand still and record every bird they see and hear. The teams, working in pairs, will do this through July, working 7 days on and 3 days off. They’ll cover a wide variety of habitats and by the end of the season, will have amassed enough data to determine the health of the bird populations. But that analysis is the job of other researchers. For these six, they get to work outside in some of the most beautiful parts of the country.
In addition to recording the species, the team has to note the distance between them and the bird. It’s an inexact science and Mandy used a rangefinder while the rest of the group trained their eyes to estimate the distance.
“See that tree, not the close one, but the one to the left and behind it?”
“The shrubby one?”
“Yeah, the green one”
They guessed 82 meters. 90. 53.
“Actually,” Mandy revealed, “It’s 105.”
“Are we talking about the same tree?”
Usually the group was eerily dead on, Kara especially, and I thought that they could make good money as caddies in the off-season.
By the end of their point count, their notebooks were filled with scribbled notations. They will eventually use official government forms but for now, each team member had a matching Spiderman spiral notebook. The birds were jotted down in four letter abbreviations. Like National Park shorthand, you take the first two letters of each word; American Robin becomes AMRO. There are exceptions of course, like the Yellow Warbler.
Zach mentioned that when he was watching President Bush give a speech in the Rose Garden last month, he couldn’t help but hear the migratory warblers singing in the background (behind Zach, Cassidy made the classic science geek hand signal of pushing imaginary glasses up the bridge of his nose). Is it coincidence, we mused, that the Yellow Warbler’s abbreviation is YWAR?
We did a few more point counts throughout the morning and walked a distance of maybe one mile in two hours. What struck me most about my first birding experience was the different perception of time and space. Compared to the high-energy buzz of urban life everything seemed slower, more pronounced. When, during our normal daily routine, do we ever stay still long enough to listen? This awareness to one’s environment feels more natural and it's refreshing.
We said our goodbyes in the parking lot with promises to follow up later in the season. When I turned on my car, I couldn't believe that it was only 10:30 am. I still had the whole day ahead of me. Or I could take a quick nap. I chose the latter with the light notes of bird songs still ringing in my ears.
Special thanks to: Mandy Holgren, Kara Kuhlman, Cassidy Grattan, Zach Wallace, Andrew Wicks, Andrew Tillinghast, and Bob Kuntz.
Why, you may ask, was I getting up at this un-Godly hour on my first day of the weekend?
To go birding, of course.
I was to shadow the Landbird monitoring team as they honed their field skills in Marblemount. Their spring training was nearly complete and they were practicing for an exam that, in order to pass, they needed to recognize 49 out of 50 birds by sight and song. Since their subjects were most active during the early dawn hours, we too had to wake up with sun.
And I guessed, with the light brushing the underbellies of the clouds a bright pink and the valley aglow in a golden haze, there was something special about being awake while the rest of the world was still sleeping. Well, the human world at least. The birds, as I soon found out, were already engaged in a full symphony of twitters and trills.
The six-member team met me at the boat launch along the Skagit River and I was surprised at their age. Everyone was in their twenties and I was impressed at their ability to function before 10:00 on a Saturday morning. Good-natured and quick to laugh, they clearly enjoyed their jobs. The requisite binoculars hung around their necks and I imagined that they probably felt naked without them. The group greeted me warmly and I quickly found out that two of the birders were from Ann Arbor, where I recently graduated from college.
Walking with birders was like walking in a foreign country where your companions all spoke the language and you didn't. Their hyperawareness to the audible world was uncanny and they often stopped mid-sentence or mid-stride to follow a sound that flitted through the branches nearby. The group would raise their binoculars together in what appeared to be a choreographed movement and it reminded me of sleeping geese who would raise their long necks in unison whenever startled.
They tried to explain this world that they are privy to and offered the mnemonics that helped them remember the bird songs. The Black-capped Chickadee goes chickadee-dee-dee and cheeseburger. Cassidy pointed out that many phonetic spellings have to do with food and he imagined it was because of researchers going hungry while waiting out in the woods (Olive-sided Flycatcher chips a quick, three beers!). I listened intently but couldn't quite organize all these new sounds.
Mandy Holmgren, the team leader, stopped to do a 5-minute point count. This is similar to the work that they will be doing in Mount Rainier, Olympic, North Cascades and Fort Lewis and Clark this summer. For a set amount of time, they stand still and record every bird they see and hear. The teams, working in pairs, will do this through July, working 7 days on and 3 days off. They’ll cover a wide variety of habitats and by the end of the season, will have amassed enough data to determine the health of the bird populations. But that analysis is the job of other researchers. For these six, they get to work outside in some of the most beautiful parts of the country.
In addition to recording the species, the team has to note the distance between them and the bird. It’s an inexact science and Mandy used a rangefinder while the rest of the group trained their eyes to estimate the distance.
“See that tree, not the close one, but the one to the left and behind it?”
“The shrubby one?”
“Yeah, the green one”
They guessed 82 meters. 90. 53.
“Actually,” Mandy revealed, “It’s 105.”
“Are we talking about the same tree?”
Usually the group was eerily dead on, Kara especially, and I thought that they could make good money as caddies in the off-season.
By the end of their point count, their notebooks were filled with scribbled notations. They will eventually use official government forms but for now, each team member had a matching Spiderman spiral notebook. The birds were jotted down in four letter abbreviations. Like National Park shorthand, you take the first two letters of each word; American Robin becomes AMRO. There are exceptions of course, like the Yellow Warbler.
Zach mentioned that when he was watching President Bush give a speech in the Rose Garden last month, he couldn’t help but hear the migratory warblers singing in the background (behind Zach, Cassidy made the classic science geek hand signal of pushing imaginary glasses up the bridge of his nose). Is it coincidence, we mused, that the Yellow Warbler’s abbreviation is YWAR?
We did a few more point counts throughout the morning and walked a distance of maybe one mile in two hours. What struck me most about my first birding experience was the different perception of time and space. Compared to the high-energy buzz of urban life everything seemed slower, more pronounced. When, during our normal daily routine, do we ever stay still long enough to listen? This awareness to one’s environment feels more natural and it's refreshing.
We said our goodbyes in the parking lot with promises to follow up later in the season. When I turned on my car, I couldn't believe that it was only 10:30 am. I still had the whole day ahead of me. Or I could take a quick nap. I chose the latter with the light notes of bird songs still ringing in my ears.
Special thanks to: Mandy Holgren, Kara Kuhlman, Cassidy Grattan, Zach Wallace, Andrew Wicks, Andrew Tillinghast, and Bob Kuntz.
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