What being an American means to me

I’m a few days behind, but better late than never, right?

——–

As I stood watching the fireworks after listening to Old Crow Medicine Show give a free concert in Jackson, Wyoming on the night of July 4th, I again realized that we really do live in a great country.

“Don’t you ever feel guilty for being an American?” a friend asked as we walked back to the car afterwards.

“No,” I said.

She seemed a little shocked by my answer. “Not even with all the stuff that’s going on around the world, like in Egypt right now with their government?” (Egypt’s political unrest causes regional concern)

“No. I feel extremely grateful for having been born here, and for living here, but I don’t feel guilty. I didn’t choose it, so it’s not something that I’m going to feel guilty for.”

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Lincoln Memorial, Washington D.C., 2011.

We then got distracted by two men passing on bikes singing “Wagon Wheel,” but I wanted to continue the conversation. By the time we found the car and navigated traffic, my friend was asleep in the passenger seat, so I was left to the radio and my own thoughts.

—–

Like with any privilege, I think part of being an American means being the best person you can be. It means taking advantage of the opportunities you have, and using them to make the world a better place. This applies to everyone, from every country, this isn’t a distinctly American thing. That is what traveling, both in the US and around the world, has taught me. Coming home from Asia and deciding to renounce all worldly possessions, become a freegan and live off the grid in the woods behind my parent’s house does nothing to help alleviate the poverty and corruption I saw on a daily basis in Cambodia and Nepal. It might make me feel self-righteous and holier-than-thou-because-I-don’t-bathe-on-a-daily-basis-and-eat-weird-organic-foods, but it’s not going to actually do anything (except maybe make my parents become extremely worried about my mental and physical health).

I have a college education, and not using it to help the world makes it, in a way, worthless. Knowledge for it’s own sake is good, we should always keep learning, but what really matters is what you then do with your knowledge. If you are making the world a better place, then you are doing what you’re meant to be doing. It doesn’t matter if you start a non-profit foundation that saves pandas or simply smile at everyone you meet as you walk down the sidewalk. If that’s what you can do, do it.

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The American Robin: even more American than apple pie. (This is a juvenile, which is why it might look a little funny). 

We each have different paths in life, different callings. Mine is not to become a doctor and travel to 3rd world countries and provide vaccines to starving children. But I’m not going to feel guilty about it. My calling, at least for right now, is to do research on birds, to share that research with other people, and to encourage them to love the natural world as much as I do. Today I showed small children how to catch birds in a mist net, and how to band them, and then they “helped” me let them go. The wonder on their faces is what I do to make this world a better place. Is holding a wild bird for a moment so a 5 year old can look at it as important as giving that 5 year old their booster shot, or sending food to starving children in Africa? Yes, it is, because that’s what I can do.

I am many things, just one of which is an American. I will not say that I am always in agreement with everything that goes on in this country, or with my fellow Americans, but I will say this: I do not feel guilty for being who I am. I love my country and the people in it, for who we have been, for who are right now, and for who we will become.

From the mountains, to the prairies,

To the oceans, white with foam,

God bless America, my home sweet home.

Fairies in our nets

A male Calliope Hummingbird

A male Calliope Hummingbird.

Today we caught fairies in our nets– Calliope and Broad-tailed Hummingbirds. The male Calliopes have beautiful throats, an iridescent rosy or purple color, depending on the light. Sometimes, once I gently untangle them from the mist net, they’ll sit in my hand, miniscule feet tucked up into their chests, resting. Dark limitless eyes looking all around, diminutive breast heaving as if it had just run a marathon, their colors changing in the light– only an illusion, a change of perspective. After breath-holding seconds, when time seems to stand still, their wings begin their blurred-motion movement and they buzz out of my hand and back into their world.

There’s always a moment when I wish I could keep this tiny bird forever, but every fairy has to be free. How else do they keep their magic?

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The same male Calliope hummingbird, moments before he flew away out of my hand.

“Life is already too short to waste on speed.”

“Walking takes longer… than any other known form of locomotion except crawling.  Thus it stretches time and prolongs life.  Life is already too short to waste on speed.”

Edward Abbey

Hiking to Phelps Lake, on the trail to Devil's Canyon.

Hiking to Phelps Lake, on the trail to Death Canyon in Grand Teton National Park. That’s Keegan in front, and Stephanie behind him (there were seven of us total, the others were up around the bend). As the slowest hiker ever, I bring up the rear. And take pictures of everyone else hiking from behind.

Looking back Devil's Canyon toward Phelps Lake.

Looking back Death Canyon toward Phelps Lake, which is probably named for Michael Phelps (I couldn’t find anything online that said otherwise, so that’s my theory). I’ll bet (though not any of my own money) he did all his training for the Olympics there. The water is freezing, it’d toughen you up real quick.

June 8th, and we're hiking through snow. Good thing  Keegan has that awesome walking staff.

June 8th, and we’re hiking through snow. Good thing Keegan has that awesome walking staff. We were all slightly jealous.

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Death Canyon. No one died there, at least not from our party. Lots of wildlife, including a moose, quite a few birds, and a number of plants I couldn’t identify. All in all, a fantastic hike in Grand Teton National Park, and one I highly recommend to anyone. And any fellow life-enjoyers (aka those who hike slow) who would like a companion, let me know. We can meander and enjoy life to the fullest together while those other fast life-wasters hike on ahead and scare up all the bears and moose, which I’d prefer to observe from a distance anyway.

What is a mist net?

A Wilson's Snipe with the Teton Range in the background.

A Wilson’s Snipe with the Teton Range in the background. Snipe use those long bills to probe in the mud for food, like insects and other invertebrates (little squirmy things without backbones).

Sometimes when I tell people that I band (and therefore catch) birds, they get real quiet and look at me strangely. Do you use a fishing pole, a butterfly net? Cages? Hold out birdseed in your hand and wait for them to land, then use super-fast reflexes to grab them? I’m working on that last one, but no. We use these nifty thingies (a scientific term, by the way) called mist nets.

I handled my first mist net back in 2005 when I was a freshman in college (oh so long ago), so I’ve sorta forgotten that most people aren’t familiar with what one is. That’s the problem when you spend too much time hanging out with bird biologist types, you can use words like “mist net” and “trammel” and everyone knows what you’re talking about, and when you get jump-up-and-down excited about a Wilson’s Snipe or a Song Sparrow they’re right there jumping with you. Some people get into sports teams, I get excited about their bird namesakes. To each his own.

But before we get in too far:

Do not attempt this at home unless you are a trained professional.

And I mean it. You have to be registered with the government (USGS) to catch and band birds, which requires a license, research permit, and proper bird-handling training. The Migratory Bird Treaty Act makes it illegal to “take, possess, import, export, transport, sell, purchase, barter, or offer for sale, purchase, or barter, any migratory bird, or the parts, nests, or eggs of such a bird except under the terms of a valid permit issued pursuant to Federal regulations.” The term migratory bird here includes just about every native species, so basically: if you see a bird in the wild, leave it alone. To see a complete list of the species covered and for more information, click HERE.

A Cedar Waxwing. Note the waxy tips on his wing feathers. No one knows exactly why some waxwings secrete these tips, but they sure do look cool (and maybe help attract the ladies).

A Cedar Waxwing. Note the red waxy tips on his wing feathers. No one knows exactly why some waxwings secrete these tips, but they sure do look cool (and maybe help attract the ladies).

We are trying to gather important information about bird populations, but first and foremost is bird safety. So if you ever come across a mist net with a bird in it, leave it alone. Don’t touch it. Someone will be coming along soon to safely get the bird out, I promise. Well-meaning passersby can seriously injure birds by touching them and trying to “help.” Would you go into a hospital, walk into surgery and start poking around in a patient? No, of course not. You need training to perform surgery– which is my point exactly.

If you’d like to read a 66 page document put out by the Ornithological Council entitled Guidelines To The Use of Wild Birds in Research, click HERE. The last page also details the American Birding Association’s Code of Ethics, which are a must-know for all birders and anyone interested in observing birds in the wild.

And now, after our brief safety interlude, on to the good stuff:

What Is A Mist Net?

A mist net is a very fine net that we set up to catch birds. It looks like mist, and is a net, so we call them mist nets. Except they don’t actually look like mist. Imagine four 39.37 foot long hair nets (or 12 meters, since scientists reasonably use the metric system, unlike the rest of the US) strung between two poles, the bottom of the top one touching the next, and you have a fairly good idea of what a mist net looks like. Our nets are about 7-8 feet high, depending on how much we stretch them out, a guestimation based on the fact that we use 10 foot poles to string them on.

Picture borrowed from my co-bander Bo. Can you see the net stretching from the pole (going right)?

Picture borrowed from my co-bander Bo. Can you see the net stretching from the pole (going right)? It’s rather difficult to get a good picture of a mist net, since they are so fine and hard to see.

There are five thicker strings, called trammels, that have loops on either end and are what attach the net to the poles. Between the trammels stretch the mesh netting, which is fine enough that, once the net is spread open, is almost invisible (I’m guessing this is where the “mist” part of the name comes from). The netting forms a little bit of a pouch between each trammel, and when birds fly in they sometimes hit the net and fall into this pouch.

We use smaller-meshed netting (there are different sizes depending on what type of birds you are targeting; we’re trying to catch everything that will fly into the nets), and so larger birds usually don’t become too tangled in the mesh but instead are trapped in the pouch. Sometimes they can get themselves out before we get to them by flapping their way down the net until they get to the edge by the pole and then escaping.

The nets have give to them, so when birds fly into them they can bounce a bit, somewhat like the safety net below acrobats at the circus. I’ve watched birds fly directly into the net and bounce out, not getting caught at all.

Close-up of a mist net. Note the small mesh size.

Close-up of a mist net. Note the small mesh size. I frequently get my fingers tangled while trying to extract birds, one of the hazards of having big hands.

Smaller birds, like House Wrens and Black-Capped Chickadees, can almost fit completely through the mesh, and can become more tangled in the netting that larger birds (American Robins being an exception, the turds. And I mean that in a completely scientific way– their scientific name is Turdis migratorius, so we call them turd birds– from Turdis, of course, has nothing to do with the fact that they also they also tend to poop all over the place. The middle schoolers love it when I tell them that).

When we check the nets, we have to very delicately untangle the birds from the netting, which, depending on the species and the individual bird, can take anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes. In my experience, warblers typically are easier, because they hit the net and don’t struggle too much and so aren’t too tangled. Wrens, on the other hand, like to thrash around, trying to extract themselves, and can sometimes spin themselves around in the net, so that they look like little balls of black netting with a head and feet poking out.

Usually we are able to quickly untangle the birds without hurting them or the net, but sometimes they become so tangled that the only way to extricate them safely is to cut the net. We carry small scissors and toothpicks, or sometimes crochet hooks, to use to slip the net off birds sometimes when our giant human fingers are too big to manipulate the thin netting off a tiny warbler or kinglet wing.

A MacGillivray's Warbler in the net. It took me less than a minute to safely extract (untangle) him.

A MacGillivray’s Warbler in the net. It took me less than a minute to safely extract (untangle) him.

There have been studies done to determine the safety of mist netting, and one study found that “Of 620,997 captures the percentage of incidents of injury amounting to 0.59% while only 0.23% of captures resulted in mortality.” They also found that birds that were recaptured more frequently were at less risk than birds only captured once. For more information, follow this link:

How Safe is Mist Netting? First Large Scale Study into Bird Capture Technique Evaluates the Risks

If you’re in the Grand Teton/Jackson WY area and would like to come out and see what we do at the banding station, join us for a Feathered Friday. There is a fee, but you get breakfast in addition to a visit with some fantastically amazing, beautiful, smart, witty, very-happy-to-be-up-at-4am- bird banders. Keegan, our crew leader, will also be there. He is just as cool as the rest of us, though maybe not quite as fantastically beautiful. (The rest of us on the crew are women, so poor Keegan has to put up with a lot sometimes).

Hope to see you around the banding station sometime, but if not some of my coming blog posts will definitely include our banding happenings, so stay tuned!

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If you’re looking for a new blog to read, check out this one by Bo D’Amato. She’s my bunkhouse mate/roommate/fellow bander, and has a cool blog called The Eco Explorer. Check it out– there’s at least one picture of my hands holding a Wilson’s Snipe on there.

Bird Banding with the Teton Science Schools

So here I am in the Tetons, about to start a three month stint working for the Conservation Research Center of the Teton Science Schools (TSS). I am working with the bird banding crew, and our job is to catch birds at five different sites; three around the town of Jackson, Wyoming, and two in the Grand Teton National Park.

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Our sites are in both developed and undeveloped areas (the ones in downtown Jackson are interesting, as we sometimes get homeless people hanging out in our net lanes). One goal of the project is to see how songbirds respond to different levels of development, by comparing our data from site in the park (which are undeveloped) and those in downtown Jackson (located in the middle of housing developments and surrounded by busy roads). There have been 21 years of banding going on through the TSS, and it’s exciting to be contributing to such long-term research.

I’m still learning about our particular project, but if you follow the link above it will take you to the CRC website, which has a nice little description of our research. I will also be sharing more as the season goes on, so stay tuned!

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One of our volunteers, Anya, with the male sharp-shinned hawk.

We’re still in training at the moment, but official banding starts on Friday. I’m excited. Our first day is at one of our sites in the park, and Jenny, our boss, has said they typically see the most wildlife at that site, including moose, bison, bear (black and grizzly), and white-tailed deer. But don’t worry Mom, we were all issued bear spray yesterday and trained in its use. I’m hoping never to get close enough to spray down a grizzly, but it’s good to know the spray cannister works.

During our most recent practice banding session, we caught a couple of exciting birds (all birds are exciting, but these were especially so. They also might have been the only ones I remembered to take pictures of…):

First was this male Sharp-shinned Hawk

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And this older male Lazuli Bunting, who was absolutely gorgeous:

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(links in green will take you to more information about these species)

Can’t wait to see what else we catch in our nets this summer!

Don’t Say Don’t Go

Peace Boulder, I’m heading to Wyoming for the summer!

For those who don’t know, I’ll be spending the next few months working with the Teton Science Schools, mucking around in the forest playing with birds (more details on that later). Literally mucking, or so I hear from my boss, who told us to bring rubber boots. Good thing I brought mine from home. In the part of Ohio where I’m from, not having a pair of mud boots is unheard of. Mud season lasts a good long while, and if you want to go out in the woods (which I do quite frequently) you need a pair of boots. As a result, rubber boots, like a coat (because the weather will be changing in about 5 minutes), are one of the many things I can’t leave home without. The list also includes a journal and pen, binoculars, bird book, camera, and climbing gear. You never know when the muse will overtake you, a cool bird that needs iding and photographing will be spotted, or when you’ll find a rock that needs climbing.

The car is packed, I’ve got western bird calls on my iPod, a giant jug of Bhakti Chai and a baggie of pickles. Let’s hit the open road! Wyoming, here I come!

road in Colorado

 

 

I shall leave you with this song: I Can Breathe Again, by Baywood (which is also on the iPod, along with the bird calls).

 

Baywood – “I Can Breathe Again” from Consequence of Sound on Vimeo.

Lyrics (for those of you who don’t listen to the words, which I’m suprised to find is a large number of my acquaintances. I guess I’m just a wordy person, I listen to the lyrics):

VERSE 1:

One of these slow weeks when, you don’t know where the time will go
I could just give in and send my self back to this world
Don’t say don’t go
Don’t say don’t you go

CHORUS:

I lost myself to the snow and then
I found my way back home again
But I can only stay for awhile
Hey hey hey hey!

Now that I’m on my own I can
Finally I can breathe again
So I can only stay for awhile
Hey hey!

VERSE 2:

Step after step I jump in and step off the beaten path
As the long journey begins I walk the wild at last
Don’t say don’t go
Don’t say don’t you go

CHORUS:

I lost myself to the snow and then
I found my way back home again
But I can only stay for awhile
Hey hey hey hey!
Now that I’m on my own I can
Finally I can breathe again
So I can only stay for awhile
Hey hey!

In addition to having some fantastic facial hair, Baywood also have an amusing bio, which can be perused on the Kick Kick Snare webpage here:

Baywood Bio on Kick Kick Snare

Lost in the pines

Written in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming, July 2012

Wyoming rainbow

The lodgepole pines grow incredibly dense, packed in just inches away from each other.

They make a solid, living wall of green and needles. I wonder what it would be like to slip between the trunks and lose yourself. You wouldn’t have to go very far to be lost from sight.

How far would you have to go to find yourself again?