PHOTOS BY DAVID TONKYN, UNLESS OTHERWISE CREDITED
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Katie Quakenbush from Lexington, S.C., is a recent graduate of biological sciences at Clemson University. During the spring of 2016, Quakenbush studied in the Beartooth Mountains near Yellowstone National Park as a student in professor David Tonkyn’s Rocky Mountain Field Ecology course, in which graduate student Kaitlyn Hanley was the teaching assistant. Together, Quakenbush and Hanley returned to the Beartooths in Summer 2016, and now Summer 2017, to conduct research that will aid in the conservation of American pikas. What follows is Quakenbush’s account of her first summer in the park.
BEARTOOTH MOUNTAINS, Yellowstone National Park — As we rounded the corner of the trail to our research site in the Wyoming wilderness, Kaitlyn and I suddenly stopped. The July morning air was crisp, the sun shone brightly promising an afternoon of good weather, and six black wolves had just run up the hill toward us, halting a mere 10 meters away. My hand reflectively went to the bear spray I carried at all times, and my heart began to beat faster with excitement as humans and wolves watched each other with curiosity.
No job makes you realize the importance of being aware quite like field ecology. One minute you are using your elbows to climb across a field of boulders with a tape measure in one hand and a notebook in the other, making notes about the plants around you, all the while knowing that 10 minutes ago you had come across grizzly bear tracks and an all-too-fresh pile of poop. You must also keep in mind that the weather changes extremely quickly in the alpine, and that the innocent-looking clouds in the distance could quickly leave you stranded miles from shelter in a lightning storm. After all, more people die out west from inclement weather conditions than from attacks by bears or other wildlife.
Because they do not hibernate, pikas reside in natural igloos built from rocks and snow. Their dependency on snowpack for insulation and survival means that the heath of pika populations can serve as a good indicator for how healthy a whole ecosystem is. Past research had told us that in some areas, the pika populations were declining rapidly, while in other places, populations were expected to increase. But no one quite knew why. Before setting out, my research partner, Kaitlyn, and I knew that we were some of the first ecologists to take on this question in the Beartooths, and our adventures made us feel as though we were some combination of Lewis Merriwether and Jane Goodall, out to discover things unknown to us, and then to work towards understanding and healing whatever anthropogenic damage it was that we found.
While working, Kaitlyn and I could not help but remain continuously aware of the fact that our work was bigger than us, and that the diligence and effort we put into our research would be largely reflected in the quality of the outcome. This is the knowledge that pushed us to work hard, even on the days we woke up with blisters on our feet, sore from the hikes of the day before, and tired from staying up too late making memories with new friends. Each morning we would get up, make coffee, and spend a few minutes grumbling about how sore and tired we were before venturing out into the wilderness of Montana and Wyoming to sample another boulder field for plants and pikas. Regardless of our physical discomfort, it never failed that within half an hour of beginning our work, we would glance up from wherever we were, breathe in the mountain air, take in the scenes filled with wildflowers and clear mountain lakes, and come again to the realization that we have the best job in the world.
When living in the wilderness of the west, attentiveness should not end during your free time. When we were not working, Kaitlyn and I could often be found exploring the woods with Dan, our “camp dad” and a well-known naturalist from the town we were living in. On these tromps through the woods, Dan would teach us how to read the forest and look for wildlife. For example, when searching for owl nests, you must be careful not to make the mistake that many do of looking up the whole time. Instead, looking to the ground for white wash or owl pellets is much more likely to lead you to a nest. If you can teach yourself to spot the slightest movement from the corner of your eye, you might find that you stumble across a great gray owl, one of the largest birds in North America. Learning to come at the right time of day, in combination with a little (or sometimes a lot) of patience might even reward you with the sight of a new father barreling out of a tree and landing with a harsh thud, only to emerge again with a pocket gopher in his talon for one of the chicks back at the nest. However, if you have any hope of returning to the nest later or finding your way out of the woods, it is important that you learn to recognize minute differences between the trees and their witches’ broom headdresses. Never before did I realize how much there is to be learned from a walk in the woods.
Our interaction with the wolves lasted no more than a minute or two. The bear spray, I soon realized, was unnecessary. The wolves, it seemed, were just as surprised by the encounter as my research partner and I were. Although they appeared to be confused about what exactly we were and why we were there, I never once felt threatened by their presence. Instead, there was an overwhelming sense of mutual acknowledgment and respect between two species of apex predators before the wolves turned and ran in unison back down the hill to continue their hunt. We returned home that day and told no one but Dan, knowing that recounting the story of a wolf pack outside of government-owned land to the wrong ears could lead to an untimely death for these magnificent animals.
And although today I am learning about the theories of nature in a classroom instead of experiencing them first-hand, and the views of blackboards illuminated by fluorescent lights are not as spectacular as views of bright blue skies reflected by crystal clear lakes, every day I spend learning in Clemson has the potential to be just as significant as a day in the Beartooths. Intentionality in the time and effort we spend gaining knowledge is critical if we ever hope to be influential in applying it. When we, as humans, choose to be mindful of our lives and the decisions we make, we have the potential to create a better future for species beyond our own.