From Tall Grass to Tall Mountains: The Real Lessons I Learned in My First Field Season

Dispatches is pleased to welcome Jordan Constant to the blog today. Jordan is a BScH candidate in the Grogan lab at Queen’s University. Jordan just finished up his first field season and fills us in on all the lessons he learned while identifying and sorting old-field species and also the highlights of a memorable field course in Colorado.  

 

This summer, I was lucky enough to experience my very first season of field work. At the beginning of May I was an undergrad transitioning from my 3rd to my 4th year and in the process of developing my honours thesis. I have always been interested in ecology, and after many discussions with my advisor, I settled on a project involving grassland ecosystems. And so began a summer of new experiences, life lessons, and of course some great stories that I would love to share with you.

The aim of my project involves identifying and sorting the plants in my field site at the species level. I was certainly no expert in the field of plant identification when I began – in fact I probably couldn’t have told you the difference between an Aster and a Lily – but how hard could it be, right? There couldn’t be that much to it, could there? To be safe, I sent an email out to the resident wildflower expert in the area for some pointers. She graciously offered to take me out to the field and teach me a thing or two, and I began to see what I was up against.

We arrived at the site and she handed me a field guide, as well as a list of some species she expected to see. I took a glance at the list, and where I naively expected to see around 10 species, I saw around 40. “And here is a list of some grasses to know as well,” as she handed me a second piece of paper with even more names to know. I began to see what I had signed up for but I was there to learn, so I gulped, took a deep breath, and tried as hard as I could to get some of that stuff down.

Although I didn’t realize it at the time, that day was extremely important to me. Sure, by the end of it I had a decent grasp on plant identification, but it was what came with it that mattered. First of all, I was reminded how valuable my peers were to me. I don’t know if I would have ever been able to do my project without the aid of that kind soul. In every facet of life, it is the love, support and guidance of those around us that keep us going, and I’m glad I was reminded of that at the beginning of the season. It is easy to forget that you are not alone when taking your first steps towards “real science” but in the end, they are the ones who helped me move forward.

I also learned on that day how to look with care. To most of us, grass looks like grass. It’s green, and it grows on our lawns right? It wasn’t until I learned to look closer that I was able to tell them apart. I didn’t even know the structures we use to tell grasses apart existed when I first began, but with careful examination, I began to see how different they really can be. Paying close attention is such a critical skill in life. Each and every person has some small things about them that make them truly unique, and it takes a careful look to really appreciate what makes us special. Just as I have to bend back the leaf of a graminoid species to truly understand what I need to know about it, I look to peel back some of the layers of individual personalities to truly understand people.

As the summer wore on and I started to get into the swing of my experiment, I couldn’t help but share a few laughs with my team along the way. One of my favourite parts of the experiment was the difference between the methods discussed in the office, and the methods as explained in the field. In the office, the methods were briefly described as, “all individual plant species will be collected from a sample quadrat, and sorted at the species level.” In the field this translated to, ” We are each going to take a pair of scissors, and cut every piece of grass and flower in this square one by one and put them in paper bags.” Sure, science isn’t always as glamorous as it seems, but every experiment has its quirks and now I like to ask every scientist I meet, “What is the weirdest thing you have to do to collect your data?” I always seem to get a great answer.

Of course, I wouldn’t be doing you any justice if I didn’t tell you how weather affects field work. When working on a schedule, you don’t have time to take days off because of some silly old rain, so a few times in the summer I had to find a way to work around the rain. I remember one day in particular, I was out working with some heavy clouds in the sky. I brought two umbrellas to keep me dry. Unfortunately, the rain was starting to take its toll on my paper bags. In the name of science, I decided to use my umbrella to cover my samples. As the day wore on I probably came in contact with 10L of water, in what was an absolute downpour. Meanwhile my samples were enjoying the luxury of a roof over their heads. I couldn’t help but laugh at how priorities had shifted.

Every once in a while, one of my sample plots would have a milkweed plant on its boundaries. Milkweed is a very large plant and sometimes seemed like a tree compared to the other species. We made it a rule that we would always collect the milkweed last. On average we would spend about 4.5 hours collecting from a plot, so when we finally got to the milkweed, the satisfaction we got from taking it down was off the charts. Milkweed became a symbol of reward. Every time fieldwork got tough, I would look around for a milkweed to remind myself that  all of the hard work spent in the field was going to feel so good once it was all over. There is always something to look forward to, and when times are tough it is important to remind ourselves that the effort we put in today is going to make tomorrow that much sweeter.

At the end of my field season, once the sample collection had been completed in my grassland, I was lucky enough to take a course in field biology in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. The course gave me the opportunity to try a variety of techniques and get a sense of all the different kinds of research that occur at a field station. So naturally, in the spirit of new experiences, I decided to work on flowers again.

My time in the mountains led to some great learning about science, research and fieldwork, but once again the lessons I learned outside of the science world were the ones that truly stuck with me. Perhaps my favourite part about the course was the opportunity to experience a scientific community. I was surrounded by researchers doing projects on everything from mosses to marmots, and every day we would all meet back at the dining hall and learn about each other’s work. I liked being able to talk about what happened in my day and immediately have people respond with their thoughts and opinions. I liked settling down at the end of a field day to watch a movie with the others at the station. I liked playing cricket on Wednesdays just because it was what we did every week. And most of all, I liked waking up in the morning and seeing friendly faces and bright smiles before I started my day.  As I mentioned earlier, science can make you feel like you are all on your own at times, and having peers and colleagues around you can make a world of difference.

I think the highlight of my trip came when climbing to the peak of Mt. Gothic. The elevation change hit me hard. Sometimes it felt like there was no oxygen left when I tried to breathe in. My lack of acclimation made it pretty difficult to make it up a hill, never mind a mountain. Despite my troubles, I found myself trying to keep up with those who had been climbing mountains all summer. To keep myself pushing, I put one of my earphones in and hit the shuffle button, hoping my music would take my mind off of my heavy breathing. At one point, about halfway up the mountain, the song “Bring Him Home” from Les Mis came on. I paused to catch my breath and lifted my head from my feet for the first time in a few minutes. I was greeted by the most breathtaking view I had come across so far. I started to slow down, as Alfie Boe serenaded me through my earbuds. I was overtaken by the sights and sounds I was experiencing and kind of got lost in it for a moment. As the song ended and I began to refocus on the path, I had fallen behind a little, but I was no longer breathing as heavily and I felt a lot lighter. I started to go at a pace that was more comfortable to me and enjoyed as much of the scene as I could. I learned that regardless of what pace everyone else was going, it was more important that I did it in a way that I was comfortable. I learned not to take the beauty around me for granted. I almost completely missed that moment in an attempt to get from the bottom of the mountain to the top. A lot of the time, it’s the events that occur on the way that make the journey worthwhile.

And so, as the summer has come to a close and the leaves have begun to change, I look back on all the things I gained from my first field season. While my data on alpine flowers was insignificant and my grassland ecosystem data is still in the process of being analyzed, I took much more out of my summer than two experiments. Biology is the science and the study of life, and in the process of completing my first field season, I certainly learned a lot about life.

Electric shocks or time alone? Most choose shocks.

This week, Dispatches from the Field welcomes guest blogger Dr. Magdalena Bartkowska, who tells us a bit about her experiences working alone in the field during her PhD.  For more about Maggie and her research, check out her bio the end of this post.

I recently read that most people would prefer electric shocks to spending time alone with their thoughts. This of course made me think back to the first summer I spent in the field during my PhD. I worked along the shoreline of Lake Travers in Algonquin Park studying the very charismatic flowering beauty Lobelia cardinalis. Although most people do not venture into fieldwork on their own, most have spent some time alone in the field. Alone is how I spent most of that field season.

Pollination – wait, no, thievery by hummingbird at Lobelia cardinalis in Algonquin Park.

When people hear that I spent time alone in the backwoods of Algonquin they either start playing air-banjo and humming that well-known tune from the movie “Deliverance” (this was my advisor’s reaction) or they ask if I was afraid of the wildlife. I was raised by people who’d never gone camping, and thus I had never gone “real” camping (sorry folks, car camping doesn’t count). My point in telling you this is that I had no idea what doing fieldwork alone would be like. I had spent time as an undergrad at QUBS, but fieldwork in the backcountry of Algonquin while living in a tent is an entirely different experience – although working at QUBS did help me establish some basic codes of conduct for my assistants and myself (i.e., no alcohol and 9 p.m. bedtime). At the time of developing my project, all I was concerned with was getting data for my PhD; my data or bust attitude is a story for another time.

Home sweet home in Algonquin Park.

Most of my solo sojourns into the field lasted a day or two, but in 2009 (the first year of field work) I’d often camp Monday to Friday on my own. Surprisingly, I found those lonely days to not be so lonely—I found talking to my plants helped. During the day my work kept me focused. But, when the work of the day was finished, fatigue set in and I was left alone with my thoughts—there was no option of electric shock. After running through thoughts of what I’d done and what I had left to accomplish that week, I’d daydream about finding ways to let me do this forever.

Truthfully, there were times I was terrified and a bit nuts. I once jumped right out of my skin when I caught sight of my shadow moving. At the time, I was just under 5’3 and somewhere around 120lbs. I assume this is the perfect shape and size for a quick little appetizer for a bear or pack of wolves (both of which were present in the area).  I also once lost my self-composure and started killing every slug I saw (that year most of my plants were eaten by slugs). As a warning to other slugs I mounted a smooshed slug body on a stake (i.e., small twig).

As my first season progressed, I became more competent with data collection and backcountry camping. I became an expert in setting up and breaking down a campsite solo in under 40 min, and became a backcountry gourmand (dried garlic and parsley are invaluable). More importantly, I picked up several handy tips from people I met in the field (mostly from Chris, who helped out at the Algonquin Radio Observatory and Jeremy, a park ranger).  These are my camping “must-haves” in order of decreasing importance.

1. SPOT. This device should be required for everyone doing fieldwork. This device connects to satellites and allows you to send email messages to a set contact list (I used this to check in with my partner every night). It also can send two types of emergency signals. You can select the option that is sent only to your contact list and provides the GPS coordinates of your location (I programmed a message that read, “I’m alive but need you. Come find me”. The other option lets you send an emergency message to the nearest search and emergency system in your area (police and EMTs). I had no cellphone reception in the field, so this device was crucial for safety. I’d also recommend it for folks who are within cellphone range. You can always use a backup system to call for help.
2. Headlamps, backup flashlights and spare batteries.
3. Pocket flare/bear banger combo available at MEC is also a good idea. Even when you think you are alone in the woods you probably aren’t too far away from other people. I worked near the access point at Lake Travers. People starting their camping trips would often comment about how remote and isolated the area felt. On a busy week in August I would have this chat several times a day. A flare is likely to be seen by people nearby and if you’re lucky they’ll investigate.
4. Always make sure you have enough water on hand and either rehydration crystals and/or powdered Gatorade. I used a hand pump system with a ceramic cartridge to filter lake water. I carried this everywhere.
5. This is connected to the last point. Be very mindful of early signs of heatstroke. Different individuals have different tolerances. I once had an assistant suffer from mild heatstroke on our first day out. I was perfectly fine, but she wasn’t. Water and salts were sufficient to get her back on her feet, but I learned to become more mindful of how my assistants were feeling during the day.
6. Always carry a small firstaid kit. Mine had tweezers, safety pins, bandaids, gauze, an aluminum emergency blanket, rehydration crystals, a whistle, duct tape and clothes pins.
7. If you are responsible for packing food for a camping trip, always pack extra dry pasta, dry garlic, and other dried herbs. I once had to carefully consider whether starving my field assistant and finishing my work for the week was ok.
8. For those of you driving older model field vehicles, don’t leave a cellphone charger connected to your car’s cigarette lighter. This will drain your car battery.
9. Figure out who else is in your work area. I was near the Algonquin Park Radio Observatory and knew I could reach them if I needed help (like needing to make arrangements to send a field assistant home because they were not feeling well). Cottagers and other campers are often interested in the work we nutty biologists do and are often keen to help you out.

Although camping alone seems sketchy to most people, it’s really not that uncommon. Spending a day alone in the field is extremely common. Be safe and prepare for the unexpected. Carry emergency supplies, and a way to contact help.

The view makes it all worthwhile: a shot of one of my field sites.

 

Maggie, happy as can be, working at one of her field sites.

Dr. Magdalena Bartkowska is currently a postdoc at the University of Toronto studying population genomics of the world’s most charismatic group of small-flowered plant (duckweed). She did her PhD at Dalhousie University under the mentorship of Dr. M. Johnston. Her work has largely focused on plant-pollinator interactions and other ecological factors shaping the evolution of plant traits.

Changes, invasions and transformations

One of the neat things about spending so much time doing field work in the same place is that I’m really in tune with a lot of my sites. For example: Wire Fence field is an old-field site belonging to the Queen’s University Biological Station and I have collected data on different projects there since 2009. When I walk into Wire Fence today, some things have changed since 2009. For example, when I first started in that site, there were two main grasses that dominated there, Poa pratensis or Kentucky blue grass and Phleum pratense or Timothy grass. They were pretty evenly distributed across the field. Most of the perennial wildflowers present were distributed widely across the field as well, but without doubt every year there would be a big patch of Dianthus armeria, or Deptford pink southeast of the trees in the middle of the field, and nowhere else. Lotus corniculata thrived in the most Southern parts of the field and Oxalis corniculata or creeping wood sorrel was always hiding in the far west corner. If you can imagine it’s almost like each species is a neighbourhood within a city, and each year when you visit that city it’s like nothing has changed, you go to the westside, you know what you’ll find. Head up North and it’s the same old thing. But, like any city, while lots of things remain the same, there are often subtle (or not-so-subtle) changes. In 2009 there was a small patch of Bromus Inermis or Smooth Brome grass growing on the east side of the trees in the middle of the field- there was maybe 100 individual plants there.  Since Smooth Brome is a pretty agressive invader, each year the abundance and distribution of Smooth Brome throughout the field increases. Today, while Timothy and Kentucky blue grass are still very dominant, Smooth Brome has taken over almost the entire east side of the field and appears to have displaced the native grasses in the densest patches. Milkweed (Asclepsias syriaca) was always dominant on the North side of the field, and this year it’s the South side. Thistles used to only be found on the North side and in very high abundance and now they’re spread out all over the field, but not as densely as they were before.

 

Kentucky blue grass flowering

 

 

Timothy grass flowering

 

 

Smooth Brome flowering

 

 

Milkweed flowering

Deptford pink

Another field site I used to visit was the Bee field, another QUBS property. In 2009 there was one individual of a very invasive plant called Dog strangling vine (Cynanchum rossicum) right in the middle of the field. We told the QUBS manager at the time about this and he came and dug it up and got rid of it. From that day until summer 2012 I never saw that plant again. When I started my field season last year, I noticed a whole bank of dog strangling vine by Clear Lake Rd. along Opinicon Road. It certainly wasn’t there the year before. For those of you familiar with the Opincion Road area, you probably noticed that this year, much of the East side of Opinicon road side is densely covered in this species and it’s probably going to get worse. In fact, even in Kingston the roadsides leading into Lemoine point are littered with this species too! (On a brief side note: I’m really interested in getting the public involved with and aware of this issue so if you’re also concerned about this or just want to get involved shoot me an email at fieldworkblog@gmail.com and we can chat!)

Dog strangling vine flower

Dog strangling vine along the roadside

One other neat thing I’ve seen out in the field is old field succession. In 2009 Wire Fence field was entirely dominated by herbaceous species. You’d be hard-pressed to find anything woody in that field. Now it is slowly becoming filled with white ash saplings the occasional birch sapling and tonnes of blackberry and raspberry bushes, all species typical of mid-successional habitats. If the field isn’t bush-hogged soon, it will most certainly end up as a shrubland site and eventually overtime become young woodland and then a mature forest. It’s an amazing transformation and I’m lucky I’ve spent enough time to notice it happening. Changes, invasions, and transformations like these and rarely observable in person unless, like me, you spend countless hours poking around the same site!

 

Wild about wildflowers

I don’t study cute, fuzzy little critters that tug at your heart strings. I’m not one of those adventurous students that spend their summers catching snakes. And as cute as little birds are, they’re just not my kinda thing. My study species don’t require live traps, they don’t slither away as you chase them, and they certainly don’t fly, at least not on their own. If you haven’t guessed already I study plants – mostly herbaceous species typical of south eastern Ontario including wildflowers, grasses and sedges.

Now I know what you’re thinking – that I spend all day frolicking in fields of wildflowers, basking in the sun, feeling the wind in my hair…NOT true!! Most of the data I have collected involved really tedious, careful work in conditions that may appear lovely, but can certainly be challenging to say the least. Most of my work to date has taken place on QUBS properties and my first fieldwork experience at QUBS was in the summer of 2009.

Before fieldwork… there was grass, and there were weeds and then there were trees. I didn’t know much at all. I quickly discovered the incredible diversity of the Kingston and surrounding area. Weeds quickly became beautiful, delicate wildflowers. Grasses were no longer just short little green stubs growing on a lawn, but little bundles of life exploding like fountains when they flower. Trees weren’t just tall plants people cut down to build stuff with. They became magical organisms each with their own story, many of which could tell me tales from way before my time.

One of the big parts of fieldwork for me, as a plant community ecologist, is getting to know the species of the area. I can probably ID about 200 species commonly found in this area and that number is barely scratching the surface. My first field season started in early May just at the peak of spring wildflower season.  I was handed a copy of Newcomb’s Wildflower Guide and taught how to key out plants. We puttered around to practice our plant ID skills and I came across the plant pictured below. It had interesting looking white and yellow flowers and I remember laughing to myself and thinking that the flowers almost looked like little pairs of underpants hung out to dry. I pulled out the guide book and lone behold, the plant keyed out as Dicentra Cucullaria or what is commonly known as “Dutchman’s breeches”. Later that year I came across Matricaria discoidea or pineapple weed. It literally smells like pineapples (and even kinda looks like them a bit too)… so cool! Other neat finds that summer included jack-go-to-bed-at-noon or more commonly known as goatsbeard, Tragopogon pratensis. The flowers open with the sun and close down shop aroundnoon each day – really neat!

 

Dutchman’s breeches

Pineapple weed

Goatsbeard

I liked plants before that – I thought they were neat but I didn’t love them. After that summer I loved them. I must have loved them a lot because here I am… summer 2014 in the second field season of my PhD. As one of the permanent bloggers for Dispatches from the field I really look forward to sharing my experiences over the past 5 years as a field biologist and letting you, our readers, take a closer look at what really happens in the field (and for me that literally means in the field)!