Bobcat Collars: FAIL

After finishing a study site just moments before the sky began to spit out teardrops, Bobbie and I happily climbed into the truck to head down the mountain. Just as we crossed onto the paved part of the road (which means home is close because one can drive fast!), we changed one of the channels on the receiver to see if one of the bobcats was in the area. Hearing only static, we were about to turn off the receiver (the signal comes via GPS through the collars on each cat. An antenna on the collar allows us to know if we are within two miles of an animal. We have a hand held transmitter, and also one glorious magnetic antenna that sits on top of the truck and allows us to cover ground more quickly), we heard the double clicking signal. The signal emits a heartbeat-like beeping on a live animal, but a rapid clicking serves as a mortality signal. My heart sank as I heard my first mortality signal, and we began a triangulation to determine the relative location of the cat. A triangulation is putting three compass bearings and their respective UTM's into the GIS for a fairly accurate location for an animal. We take the hand-held antenna and point it in the direction that the signal is loudest, narrowing it down to a directional line. That line is used for a compass bearing, and we then travel ninety degrees in a circle (hopefully!) to determine yet another bearing. It can take six or seven times to get enough points at varying angles so the GIS will determine a location (via computer). That being said, Bobbie and I didn't have a computer, so we tried to determine a relative location for our cat. We then grabbed our gear and headed out to find the body. Unsure of what we would find, we had our bear spray in case our cat had been killed by a bear or mountain lion. The telemetry led us into a mature forest with lots of fallen logs... sadly a place that a bobcat would live, and also choose to die. We commenced our search, but we very quickly ran into a problem: the signal was everywhere. Telemetry is very simple: the closer you get to your target, the louder the signal. Ideally, an unmoving object presents a fairly easy target. However, our deceased animal's signal was not only getting louder, but it was louder a hundred yards across the trees. We searched in fallen branches, in stumps (I did work for almost ten minutes hacking into a cedar log. You actually cannot hack into a cedar log.), and up in trees for any sign of a carcass or collar. The pieces might not have been together, so we searched for anything. As it started to rain, I heard my first elk... and it is a strange sound. Way up on a hill, we could hear a startled and irate bull elk snorting at us repeatedly. After adjusting to the sound, we continued to curse and scratch our heads over the strange signal. We found traces of what we thought was bobcat and deer hair, but nothing else. After an hour, we went home soaking wet, empty handed, and disappointed.

The rest of the week revolved around finding this dead bobcat. We determined that the signal must be bouncing off of the many ridges of the mountains in this one area as well as the river running through the valley. Bobbie and I spent the next two days hiking for the cat with three paws. This bobcat was caught in a furbearer trap this past December (a conibear trap), but escaped only because he chewed his own paw off. I digress to marvel at the fierce instinct of survival this cat had to chew off his own paw. Our search for this amazing cat, whose fate was still indeterminate, led us to a cliff over the river:

The signal was leading us down into the valley. The river running through the valley was swift, with picturesque rapids and contrasting clear, still moments on the rocks. From the cliff we leaned over we could see how deep the river was in some parts, and there was one rock in the center of the riverbed that was easily four times the size of my car, and much taller, that was covered completely by the crystal clear water. The path down, however, was very down, and the slope was covered by rocks that had fallen off the cliff in an avalanche. Making our way down, we determined that not only was the signal inconsistent, but it was leading us across the river.

Crawling down to the bank, we looked at the water, then at each other, and Bobbie said, "I'm game if you are." Pumping myself up to cross this river was completely crazy! We debated leaving on our boots, but we found a more shallow area to cross (only thigh high) and decided to take off our boots. I know I definitely did not notice how cold the water was, as I was intent on not losing my balance over the sharp and slippery rocks that were urging the water to rip me off my feet. Don't get me wrong- we weren't going to die, probably- but I don't know anyone who is relaxed about getting swept down a fifty degree river with expensive equipment in their pack.

Bobbie snapped this picture on the way through the river the second time. She snapped the pic as I was lifting my right leg to take another shuffle, but I almost lost my balance. The other, and more dignified photo, shows me with both arms going into the water and trying to straddle the rocks with four limbs and keep my footing.

The journey in between these photos gave us new insight to the term "going in circles," because that is exactly what we did! The signal got loud, then faint, then took us left, then up, then right and down. We found wild strawberries, moose bones, and I heard my first osprey. We had just decided to give up, and I had long ago determined that I had no idea where we were in relation to the river, when we rounded some trees and came upon the giant rock we ate lunch on. We had come full circle! This is not good, because the whole goal of the day was to find our deceased bobcat.

Getting back to the truck, we discussed our options, concerned we would have to fly a helicopter to find this cat (no joke). The next day, however, the signal was in a different location entirely. From the road, the signal was coming and going. That usually only happens when a bobcat is active. Active = Alive. Hmmmmm. This cat, M6, was one of two cats wearing a different brand of radio collar. The next day we decided to search for the other collared bobcats to see what their signals sounded like. Driving the roads, we found each cat, and each signal was a live signal, except for M5. He, too, had the same mortality signal, and he is the other cat with the other brand of radio collar. The collars have a live signal, a mortality signal, and a recovery signal when the battery is dying. Nature is unpredictable, yet the coincidence of having two cats dead within 48 hours, combined with the inconsistency of the signal strength, pointed to one very enlightening fact: our cats were alive! Poor M6 had been moving in the woods for two days trying to get away from the crazy beeping ladies, and we had been tailing him the entire time! After our excursions, we managed to discover that the mortality signal and the recovery signal on the transmitter is only slightly different (why this was highlighted in a very tiny footnote instead of a bold headline in the manual is beyond me).

Long story short, no cat was harmed in the making of this adventure. The company who makes the collars that failed after only four months is still intact, and we are currently wrapping up the field season by trying to catch these bobcats so we can retrieve the information on the collars!

Bears and Birds

Our mornings begin in much the same way: finding our study site via GPS, putting on our rain gear, and taking our first steps into the woods to start the study site. Although the routine is the same each morning, the day itself is as varied as the leaves on the trees. Some study sites are better than others, with less hills or having more visibility (or, huckleberries!). Some days are pretty ridiculous, and can include crossing thigh-high swift rivers or climbing multiple cliffs (it's never just one). The wildlife is always busy, and we are constantly being yelled at by the squirrels or sung to by the birds. This particular day, Bobbie and I began our morning at 7am by navigating down a steep hill full of young saplings. Upon starting our first point and counting snowshoe hare pellets, we heard a loud CRACK on the hill above us. Bobbie and I both have a very specific look we give each other when we think there is a critter in the woods that is taller than us. In this case, the noise indicated that it was a lot bigger than us! Some yelling on our parts rendered the forest silent once more.

Moving on to our next point, which was still downhill, we were minding our own business when we heard another CRACK! This time, however, the noise was below us. Moose are the lumberjacks of the mountains, and we most likely had not one, but two moose in the area. Moose aren't very smart, and this danger is compounded when you have a mama moose who thinks you want to eat her baby moose (or whatever they think when they see us). Moose have been known to charge trains, and although this doesn't end well for the moose, it wouldn't end well for us either if a moose charged! According to Bobbie, tree-climbing is your only option, and since we were in a sapling stand, yelling again was the next best one!

After the squirrels had determined that there were two crazy women in the forest, we continued working until I head a strange sound. It was a sort of vocalization that I'd never heard before- a keening I couldn't place as a bird or a machine. Bobbie said that it was most likely a bear cub crying for it's mom. So, not only were there one, maybe two moose in the area, but also a bear (black or grizzly, we didn't know) with a whiny cub.

Great!

Armed with bear spray and good company, Bobbie and I continued the day as usual, duly noticing the fresh pile of bear scat and the shadows moving around in the trees. It was a pretty rough morning, with the slope of the hill being very steep and the fallen trees providing ample opportunity to faceplant. We were definitely working in a bear's home range, as there were multiple stumps and fallen trees ripped open by bears to lick up the ants (some of those fallen trees were big, too!).

The day continued without event until we got to the last few points of the day. We get to each point using a compass bearing and counting distance by footsteps. This has been cause for me to look like Captain Jack Sparrow wandering around in the woods, holding my compass and trying to stay on the right bearing, while counting steps, without falling down. I must admit that I was a little more tired than Bobbie, whose nickname is Crazy Hiker Woman, mainly because I have an old knee injury that was wanting to act up on the hills. As Bobbie and I walked into an opening (looking for huckleberries as we went), all of a sudden we were completely and totally surrounded by a large group of nuthatches and chickadees! The fledgling group immediately took interest in us and fluttered around overhead, coming within five feet above us and leaning in to get a good look at us. They flitted and sang and talked amongst one another as we stood there in awe, listening, grinning, and managing to snap a few good photos. One nuthatch flew into a tree above me and landed on a branch right next to me. I could almost touch him. Nuthatches and chickadees are social birds and obviously get along quite well. There were easily two dozen or more birds chattering in the trees above us, most likely wondering what the colorful two-legged creatures were. Insatiable curiosity in both parties lasted for almost five minutes until the little birds decided it was time to move on to the next adventure of the day. We, too, had to continue on our adventure in order to get back to the truck. All the fatigue of the day left my bones after the visit with the birds, and I am so appreciative to have had such a surreal experience- nothing rivals the life that exists in nature. We left the birds to their boisterous chirping, counting our steps and looking for bears, smiling the whole way home.

DC Cheetahs!

Last fall I attended a fundraising event for the Cheetah Conservation Fund (CCF) hosted by the DC chapter of CCF. The event included a wide array of art, photography, and package items that were auctioned, with benefits going to the many educational programs CCF uses to educate African farmers and families on coexisting with the cheetah. CCF is based in Namibia, Africa, with a growing program in Kenya. CCF raises funds and awareness to study as well as implement strategies to conserve this magnificent cat, and since I am very fond of cheetahs, I worked very hard last year to drive to DC for the event. I met Ro, an educational cheetah from the Cincinnati Zoo: 

I enjoyed meeting conservation enthusiasts as well as CCF Founder and Executive Director Dr. Laurie Marker and geneticist Dr. Stephen O'Brien (author of Tears of the Cheetah: And Other Tales From the Genetic Frontier). That being said, I received a wonderful email today from friend Liz Karch, who heads up the DC, MD and VA chapter, reminding me that this year's DC CCF event is right around the corner! I want everyone to take a moment and visit CCF's website and consider visiting the Georgetown area in DC for an amazing event for an amazing animal!

http://www.cheetah.org/ (Click on Events to learn about the DC event!)

Work with the bobcats is going well... this past week we had a particularly rough day fighting a tentacle-like plant called alder. We also nearly suffered cardiac arrest from a particularly clumsy hawk making excessive noise in the woods, but more on that later. These upcoming weeks include more searching for some elusive bobcats. Thank you for reading and for taking interest in conservation!

Necropsies

Quite a bit has gone on between now and the lull from my last post. There were two weeks that instead of hiking, I worked on compiling national data concerning bobcats and bobcat harvests for the fur trade. I must admit that I am quite surprised there is still a need for the fur market in this country (and in many others) with so many other options for fashion statements. Whenever I see someone sporting a fur coat or stole, I don't remark on their obvious wealth... I just notice how inconceivably heartless they must be to be willing to wear someone's skin.  It seems obvious that the bobcat needs the skin more than humans do, so I take pride in saying that nothing has to die for me to look good.  Not to mention that it takes at least thirty small cat hides to make one coat (I learned this while working at Carolina Tiger Rescue. People sell serval skins and claim it is cheetah fur. They look nothing alike!). I digress. The data will help my boss in determining population trends for her project, so the lives are not lost in vain. I also managed to use Excel without throwing my laptop, so it was a win-win for all involved.

Two weeks ago Bobbie and I traveled to Bozeman, Montana to do bobcat necropsies. A necropsy is the animal version of a human autopsy (autopsy is reserved for humans only. We are a special animal.). My plan for years was to become a veterinarian, so I really enjoy using a scalpel. My boss recently noticed a bumper sticker stating "I like to poke dead things with sticks." This reminds me of the insatiable curiosity I possessed as a child, and although I would never put something like that on my car because it's creepy, I really do love learning about the 'gross stuff.' Dark humor aside, animal anatomy and physiology is not only fascinating, but tells the detailed story of an animal's life. Bobbie and I drove to Bozeman to work in a lab where fur trappers had turned over the carcasses of bobcats from the previous season's harvest.  Our job was to collect DNA and stomach content to determine what these guys were up to prior to trapping. We learned some exciting stuff! We marveled at the size of some of these cats (we're talking thirty five pounds!) and discussed at length how beautiful they must have been. We also honed our scalpel skills in the process, and I was able to practice things I learned when I worked at the Museum of Natural Science in Raleigh, NC doing rodent DNA collection and specimen preparation. Bobbie and I continue to work well together and enjoy each other's company, regardless of location.

The trapping process is very sad, as the cats are not trapped in your Have-A-Heart traps, but with conibear traps. Conibear traps trap an animal by holding the foot/feet in a stronghold that usually breaks the bone (so if you catch the wrong animal, the animal might not survive if released). Here is a picture I found online of a lynx trapped using a conibear trap:

While this is not the kind of picture I enjoy posting, it is something people may otherwise not know happens every year, all over the country. Bobbie and I worked diligently throughout the day on thirty bobcat necropsies, and although the information we gathered was both exciting and relevant, it was constantly on our minds that these animals died for their fur. What does this mean for resident bobcat populations? What kind of impact will this have on their survival in fifty, or two hundred years? How long did each animal suffer? Why do people want to wear fur when that animal probably suffered immense pain for several hours, or possibly froze to death in snowy states, prior to being shot for it's skin? While these questions and the opinions in this website reflect only that of my own conscious, it is a strong point I hope anyone can understand. The beautiful thing about science is that good can come from almost any situation, and that action can be taken from the results.