Day 16: The Wild Things

Day Sixteen: The Wild Things

6/23/11:

I suppose it was only fitting that after a day dedicated to flora, I found myself experiencing the fauna of the KNF. Team Blunt Machete and Team Dandelion were once again deployed in Goshawk surveying, and once again we were bitterly frustrated in our efforts. However, softening to Quentin’s growing pleas, the KNF produced a conciliatory creature from its depths: a big-eared little black bear. 

Staring in mute fatigue out of the rig window, I spotted the wee fellow as he galloped close to the road, and after a yelp, Joe pulled the truck over and we all got out.

We looked at him and he looked at us, his broad tufted ears cautiously alert.

Quentin tried to soothe him with endearments and Joe tried his hardest to get a decent picture, all of us edging a tiny bit closer. Decidedly bored with us, the bear jauntily receded into the ponderosas, and after a moment of reverent silence, we too returned to the rig.

A few hours, two hot dogs and some tomatoes later (yum, dinner), Team Blunt Machete, Team Dandelion, and John, one of the KNF Wilderness Biologists, drove off into the falling darkness of dusk. We were headed north to the Tusayan District to net bats with the Northern Arizona Research team and a woman from  USDA Wildlife Services. I wasn’t sure what exactly to expect, but the stagnant pond in the midst of the KNF where we eventually stopped definitely wasn’t it. 

Strapped into waders, the researchers (all women!) and Roger, our other wilderness bio, were hurriedly erecting nets. Made of a very fine mesh, these nets would be opened and bats, skimming low over the insect-riddled pond, would tangle themselves into furry little knots. We ringed the water with four nets, and after pounding in a few of my own stakes and straightening some supporting poles, I stood back on the shore and almost laughed.

For the life of me, it looked like some bizarre and misplaced game of volleyball.

The researchers had set up a table and folding chairs some feet back from the pond, and we were quickly briefed on our duties. As all of us interns were, quite sadly, lacking rabies shots, and were barred from actually touching the bats; instead, two of us would man spotlights and two of us would record data. The researchers from Northern Arizona University were looking to collect basic information on the bats (species, sex, weight, wing length and condition), while the woman from USDA Wildlife Services was drawing blood from the bats to see if rabies antibodies were present (allowing her to determine roughly how many bats were actually rabid).

Of course, the first creatures to entangle themselves in our nets were distinctly not bats. After freeing some of the smaller birds, John carefully showed us a common nighthawk, his fingers gingerly splayed over the feathers of its neck. In a silent howl, the bird opened its mouth a startling amount, the slit of its “lips” cutting deep into its cheeks. Without further ado, John, an avid birder, released the hawk into the air where it quickly turned tail feather and fled.

Munching on Oreos and slouched on coolers filled with scientific equipment, we waited for true night to fall and the bats to come.

And come they did, swooping in small herds and dotting the four nets with their dark bodies. With two of the researchers manning the data station and the four of us interns at our assigned tasks, the remaining four waded out to the nets, untangling distressed bats as quickly as heavy gloves permitted. After freeing their squeaking charges, the researchers dropped the bats into individual pouches and tied them closed before unceremoniously stuffing the bat-laden bags down the front of their waders (yup, that happened). Once all of the researcher’s pouches were full, he or she brought their cargo to the data table to be examined.

I worked as a recorder first, watching as the head researcher pulled out these furry little creatures, opening up their filmy wings, taking measurements, weighing them in thin plastic baggies. I gave them identification tags while she called out various numbers and letter codes, the bats releasing high pitched wails and sinking their pointy teeth into the thick leather gloves. Following this, the bats were passed on to the woman from the USDA Wildlife Services, and once she had drawn their blood, the little guys got to go free.

It wasn’t all fun and games. The researchers kept trudging up the bank with pouch after pouch and no matter how quickly we measured and recorded, there were always more squirming bags to attend to. It was part of my job to keep them in order as we needed to record what nets they had been caught in, which got stressful when the line of bags reached about seventy: writhing along the table, the coolers, the folding chairs, were bats in distress and not afraid to show it.

After finally getting the hang of recording, we of course switched jobs. Quentin and I ended up on the shoreline with blindingly (but really) powerful spotlights, sweeping the nets so the researchers could find the bats and watching to make sure none of the tangled bats fell into the water and drowned. The researchers were overwhelmed, and when we left at eleven, things showed no sign of slowing; they would undoubtedly be working for another three or so hours, prodding round bellies, tracing delicate wings, cooing softly to the frightened little creatures.

We captured Big Brown Bats, Pallid Bats, Hoary Bats, Long-Legged Bats; bats with gaping mouths and slick white teeth, bats with fleshly ears and grasping feet. 

By the end of the night, these tiny complex organisms were undeniably beautiful to me.

Photos: 1. & 4. Pallid Bats 3. & 4. Hoary Bats (photo credit: Q)