Windchill, and Painting

The past few days have been picturesque for how I like to live my life: hanging around town with good friends and good food.  I love Whitefish.  It's the best place to come for a good microbrew, interesting people, and great entertainment.  There are beautiful mountains blanketed in snow, the richness of wildlife (I like to wonder where that weasel is heading based on his tracks in the snow), and an atmosphere where everyone feels exactly the same way.

Friday, Mark and I went to a really cool show by local artists Terabyte and The Battery Eaters.  Terra and Stephen live in Whitefish, and I know Stephen from spending long hours entering bobcat data in the local coffee shop.  With tons of original songs and a sound that makes the soul want to dance, their electro flux style is really awesome.  Plus, Terra has worked on one of the bear DNA projects in Glacier National Park, so I'm definitely up for chatting about someone who loves art and science.

The rest of the weekend was spent in a similar fashion: coffee shop for internet and phone access (yay job applications and phone interviews!), and the brewery for a pint and some good company.  And food.  Whitefish boasts, rightfully so, some of the best food around... get here. Ski. Eat. Etc. We celebrated Bobbie's birthday on Monday with a family/field crew barbeque. Happy Birthday to Bobcat Bobbie!

Today was supposed to be the first day back to work opening traps for bobcats.  However, with one snowmobile refusing to work properly, Mark and I have a free day (two people per snowmobile).  This didn't really matter, though, as today's forecast includes whiteout conditions and snow tornadoes from a nasty wind.  Bobcats are hardy critters, but nothing moves around when the high is 0 F.  So, no working on the mountain for any of us, as frostbite and hypothermia are inevitable with a windchill of -30 to -50 F for the next few days.  I guess M1 will have to wait a bit longer for a free meal.

I spent the weekend painting, and man does it feel good to use a brush again.  Of late, I've taken up chalk pastels, but this weekend I pulled out the acrylics to have some fun.  Here are some of the bobcats:

 

MUNK, or M7. 5 x 7 acrylic on canvas.

M1, or Old Faithful. 5 x 7 acrylic on canvas.

Hopefully we can get out soon to see some more of those bobcats! I've got to move my flight... I think I'm staying here a while longer.  How can I not?

MUNK

Tomorrow is the last day of the ten day hitch.  We are trapping and tracking bobcats in Flathead National Forest in Montana, and the study site encompasses 250,000 acres.  Roberta Newbury (Bobbie) has two cats left to trap in order to retrieve their GPS radio collars, which unfortunately failed and did not drop off like they were supposed to in October.  She waited until bears went into hibernation to begin trapping, and I'm here for February as part of her field crew to chase cats and figure out what they're up to.  This week has been extremely busy for the bobcats; we have caught, almost caught, and missed several animals.

After my experience with M1 last week, I was eager for another cat, and hopefully one we could process (specifically, M5 and M6, who are still attached to GPS collars).  The same day we caught M1 for the first time, we missed who we think is M3, an older male Bobbie finally trapped in January and removed his collar.  He is an enormous cat, weighing in at 32 lbs, and a seasoned male with a wily ability to break out of traps.  When Bobbie was trapping cats to radio collar them in Winter 2010, M3 busted out of a trap once before she trapped him a second time; however, he was halfway out of the trap when she found him, stuck between two layers of fencing and working hard to tear the trap to pieces.  Last week, we again saw his handiwork: a small hole at the base of the trap he had worked over for maybe an hour to escape the have-a-heart style trap.  I imagine his gums were sore from working the metal fencing, but then again, bobcats are hardy, and M3 did it again earlier this week, so he must be in top shape.  His nickname is Houdini because he vanishes from traps, but when he has, he hasn't taken the meat with him.  My guess is he's just a little too stressed when that door slams shut to hang out for long; the PhD lady might come back and stick him again or put another necklace on him (always good when wildlife is wary of humans).  Also on the line up of bobcats this week was M2, a young male entering his third year.  When Bobbie collared him last winter, he was a little guy and very scared of her.  After catching him a few more times last year, she noticed his transformation as he became braver, depicting that classic bobcat attitude.  When we trapped him at the end of last week, I was so excited, because he was so much bigger than the pictures I'd seen from summer!  And he was unhappy to see us, too, growling and bluffing us with his snarls as he inched forward.  We let him go.

 M2.

M2 is not as happy as I am.

Presumably both M2 and M3 have raided our traps this week; some of the trap doors froze with some wet snowfall early this week, and the only evidence we have are perfect little bobcat prints in the trap, and the meat pilfered.  Tricky!

The most exciting part of this week was MUNK. MUNK is the unknown male bobcat Bobbie and Jodi have trapped three times, but not anesthetized for samples prior to Monday (one time, the drug froze!).  I was not the only one ecstatic to see him.  For me, MUNK is the first bobcat I've ever touched.  MUNK, once processed, is M7, more appropriately the 007 bobcat.  Akin to James Bond, this cat is all attitude.  I've never seen anything so ferocious.  MUNK, absolutely furious with our presence, put up a nearly half hour fight with the four of us before we could even get the needle near his haunches to administer the temporary anesthetic.  I don't think I've ever seen a ninja movie where any character can keep an eye on four people at once the way this cat did.  Stressing an animal is never the goal, but MUNK was definitely over stimulated as we tried to maneuver about the trap and distract him enough for one person to sneak the needle into his muscle.  Not easy on anyone, especially a bobcat with a huge superiority complex.  We all breathed a sigh of relief when I managed to inject most of the drug, and we backed off to wait for the cat to go under.

What an assumption.

We figured it was human error the first time we gave him a booster, that when he backflipped at the last of the injection I had missed the last cc's.  He just wasn't going down.  The second time Mark gave him a carefully measured booster, we were surprised but figured he was over stimulated.  We hid behind the snowmobiles so he would stop staring at us.  The third time Bobbie gave him a booster, however, it was clear that this bobcat had enough attitude coursing through his veins to burn through not only our souls with his fiery stare, but the telazol as well.  Finally, however, MUNK went down. Sorda.  Bobbie just gave up and scruffed the semi-anesthetized cat and brought him up the hill for us to begin working with.

Briefly, Bobbie's research focuses on the movements and daily energy requirements of bobcats (Lynx rufus) in a deep snow environment in northwestern Montana; field data will be used to model bobcat movements, energy balance, and home range dynamics to better inform bobcat management and elucidate potential interaction with the federally threatened lynx in Montana.  With hair samples, skin biopsies, and body measurements of resident animals in her study site, including animal without radio collars (such as MUNK), she can better assess the population with identified individuals.  Collecting this data includes beginning with an anesthetized cat; I held him down while the drug finally kicked in.  We use heated pads to maintain body temperature, as the anesthetic lowers body temperature.  Eye drops keep eyes lubricated since blinking is stopped under the drug's influence.  MUNK was weighed, measured in length, girth, height, etc, and after we took a skin biopsy of the ear, a metal ID tag was placed in his ear.  How long this remains in place remains up to the animal's rambunctiousness, but it enables us to identify him should we catch him again (surprise, we caught him again yesterday in the same trap!).  While this cat is an absolute terror, a formidable predator of solid muscle with dangerous teeth and lightning quick claws, he is absolutely one of the most beautiful cats I have ever seen.  The dense undercoat of the bobcat, overlaid with fine, long hairs provide perfect insulation for this animal in the harsh environment.  Everyone on the field crew is easily mesmerized with the luxury of the coat, and I relished the moments with him in my lap as I stroked his fur and marveled over the size of his paws (as large as the palm of my hand).  Careful to avoid putting my face near his (the cats are stoned out of their minds, but still mildly aware), I got some funny pics with the guy:

 MUNK, or M7, aka 007, not looking at the camera

 Passing an anesthetized 007 to Mark.

This process, minus the war of trying to anesthetize this particular cat, takes all of twenty minutes, and afterward MUNK was placed back into the trap to recuperate for a few hours.  The cats need to be 100% aware before released, as they would be vulnerable to other predators otherwise.  We came back to a bobcat who had the munchies: MUNK was chowing down on the deer leg that had lured him into the trap in the first place, and he refused to leave when we opened the door.  Clearly, he wasn't taking freedom without a full belly, and he was rather possessive over the meat when Bobbie and I edged closer for some good photos (thank goodness for a good zoom lens!).  We left him to his own devices, and when we came back by on the snowmobiles, he had gone about his way.  

Tomorrow we close traps.  We've seen M1 twice, MUNK twice, lost M3 twice, and caught M2 once and possibly lost meat to him another time.  I'm learning these cats' habits and learning to identify their tracks in the snow (coyotes look similar).  In addition to the sneaky ermines and tree squirrels stealing the meat in the traps, there are bobcats in these mountains.   It's just a matter of time before we catch some more.  Although we don't need to see MUNK again, I'm sure we will... and I can't wait.

It Started With Old Faithful

I've now been in Whitefish for two weeks, and a lot has happened since my arrival.  Foremost, it is definitely colder than Houston.  I anticipated feeling that painful, burning cold akin to rare winter nights growing up in North Carolina, but I've discovered that southerners don't usually wear the levels of long underwear everyone seems to sport around here, which makes the cold bearable.  I arrived in the middle of the work week for the bobcat crew, which is typical of field work: ten days on, four days off.  Unfortunately, I arrived at the beginning of an insane cold snap, so the work week was shortened due to temperatures falling to -30 F in the evenings.  Even the hardiest of wildlife has limits, and virtually nothing comes out to play in that kind of weather.  On Friday, we decided to have a little fun after closing traps for the days off, and Bobbie took us to some roads to break trail and spin powder on the snowmobiles. At this point, I had yet to turn over the snowmobile.  With the completion of the ten day hitch, I had one very important thing to look forward to: my birthday.

Last weekend was the Whitefish Winter Carnival, and there couldn't have been a better weekend for it.  We watched the Black Star Beer Barter (what would you give for a year's supply of Black Star Beer?), and everything was up for grabs: whitewater rafting trips, free advertising, green eggs and ham, and even a custom made jock strap.  During the town parade, I saw my first yaak, Paul Bunyan wearing boots on stilts made of nails, sled dogs, and lots of children dressed as marvel comic characters.  Add good food, good beer, and better friends, and it was a great day.  To top it off, my birthday was the next day (the Superbowl double-booked with me). Bobbie (PhD candidate who chases bobcats) made pancakes, which didn't require syrup because she also made huckleberry sauce to go on them. After breakfast, Bobbie, her husband, and Mark and I traveled down to one of the natural hot springs in the valley for a good soak.  I'd never been to a natural hot spring, and we had a great time before heading back into town.  The cattle in the area are giving birth (we definitely saw a cow in labor while driving), and several bald eagles were waiting around in the field to eat whatever was left from the birthing process.  I don't often talk about the birds in Montana, but the avian wildlife here is fantastic.  Finishing up the evening with one of the best homemade chocolate cakes I've ever eaten almost all of made for a wonderful Montana birthday. Plus, it snowed!

We started work again on Wednesday, which began with opening traps and loading them with deer meat.  Bobbie's traps do not harm anything that goes into them, and they are mostly bobcat specific, save for the weasels who steal the meat and the occasional snowshoe hare who triggers the trap door.  We snowmobile to each trap, and I've definitely gotten my fill of snowmobiling: on the first day back (and my fifth day on the snowmobile), I accelerated too quickly coming out of a U-Turn and flipped the snowmobile completely upside down in a ditch with me underneath.  At the immediate moment I realized I had gone off the snowmobile trail by not turning sharp enough, I apparently hit the gas and dramatically sped up the flipping process.  Luckily, nothing was hurt: I wasn't stuck, and although the snowmobile was, Thing 1 (the snowmobile) started about ten minutes later.  I did manage to flood the engine sufficiently with gas, including filling up the gas gauge.  While most people just turn over a snowmobile, I opted for a flip, and I clearly live by the line Go big or Go Home.

 The infamous M1. Epic photo by Bobbie Newbury.

 But now on to the good stuff. Someone else who goes big: M1. M1 is the coolest, toughest, most awesome bobcat there ever was.  He is big, covers a lot of ground, and has been trapped 20 times as of this week.  He was the first cat Bobbie radio-collared (M1: M for male, 1 for the first cat), and everyone definitely has a soft spot for him.  He is the cat we saw last summer sitting on the side of the road in the rain (doing what? We have no idea), and he is the cat who followed Bobbie and her husband while they were following him one day trying to triangulate his location.  It is only fitting that my first experience with a truly wild bobcat is the baddest of them all.  Out of the cats we chased last summer, I only saw one, and it was M1, only by chance.  We chased M6 for three days, and we had M3 within fifty feet one day, but no sightings.  I felt like a kid stumbling around Christmas presents as I tripped through the snow to the trap where a somewhat sleepy M1 blinked lazily at us.  M1 is crafty- he goes from trap to trap throughout a winter season (two seasons with him being collared) and gorges himself on deer meat.  It's smart, seeing as how he expels less energy in not having to hunt.  This cat can clear a plate of twenty pounds of meat easily, and he weighs thirty five.  I could go on, but I think I've illustrated how cool this cat is.

February 9. M1 disliking our presence as well as the camera. Photo by Mark Cancellare.

M1 wasn't relaxed.  He's a wild animal.  He does know the drill, however: I eat, the humans let me go because I am so scary.  He is acclimated to Bobbie, but he would still rip her to shreds and we all understand this.  M1 doesn't like new people, however, and was immediately stressed with the presence of four people looking at him, the new one being me.  M1 mostly watched Bobbie, I think because he can tell she's the alpha of the group, but he did make eye contact with me, and he emitted low, unearthly growls from his trembling frame the entire time.  As I watched M1, trying to avoid eye contact to mitigate stressing him further, I couldn't help but be amazed with what this one cat represents.  It is no wonder that Bobbie, or anyone else who has studied these animals, is in love.  Yes, I've worked with lots of dangerous exotic cats, but these animals are captive.  I would still never trust my life to one of them, but the danger and the wisdom of a captive animal is not unbridled like the gaze of a wild one, such as a bobcat who quakes with a combination of fear and anger so absolute that you, the one he growls at, know that you would never survive if this cat was given the chance.  This animal knows that he only has one chance, one shot at freedom and survival, and that is something no human will ever truly understand.  In nature, it's one wrong move and you're dead.  With fur trappers, it's one unlucky move for an animal and he is dead.  With Bobbie, it's one lucky cat who gets a meal, and one happy woman who collects data to make a difference for the future of bobcats.  For M1, it's as much meat as he can gorge and as many threats as he can emit in the few seconds before he shoots out of the trap like a cannonball, free for another moment, hopefully to survive another day.  M1 is, appropriately coined by Mark, like Old Faithful: he explodes into your life when you least expect it, but then again, did you ever expect anything different? What he does when we aren't around is anyone's guess, but I can't wait to see him again: beautiful, full, and ready to kick your ass if you get any closer.

 

A cold and overjoyed volunteer, and one bobcat who has seen it all: M1.