Working on wildlife is a sometimes-dangerous task. Danger is obvious when working on animals like black bears or rattlesnakes or when climbing trees to band nestling eagles. It’s not as obvious when working on the shorebirds, probably the meekest of animals. Yet danger exists, nonetheless, when using a cannon net to capture shorebirds along hazardous shorelines where the birds often occur. In other words, most biologists must be prepared for dangerous circumstances while they do the job of collecting of data.
I recently returned from just such a trip along the south shore of Cape Cod working with my colleagues Stephanie Koch and her staff at the US Fish and Wildlife Service’s Monomoy National Wildlife Refuge. Our goal was to capture juvenile red knots and attach light-sensitive geolocators to their legs. The project’s goal is to provide some of the first information on the migratory movement of young-of-the-year red knots, a poorly understood segment of the population. We also wanted to recapture adults with geolocators attached in the fall over the last two years at Monomoy NWR.
On our last day we hoped we would make a final catch for adults and geolocators. We trapped around the high tide, which wasn’t until 12:30 in the afternoon, so we knew the day would be long if we made a catch. The process of catching shorebirds is sometimes tedious affair that involves hours of trying to get birds in front of the net while keeping them clear from danger. At Monomoy it is difficult, and we often go home with nothing.
But we had high hopes for our last day. We were working on Minimoy Island, one of the many islands that form the outermost beaches of Cape Cod. The area is a wonderland of birds and marine life on beaches and islands that move like shifting sands in a desert. Hurricane Irene, which only delivered a glancing blow to Cape Cod, nonetheless rearranged enough sand to change channels and create new dry land. Minomoy is on the north edge of a long expanse of open, shallow water that — with a southerly wind — can turn normally placid waters into a tumult of white water and breaking waves (Wreck Cove, a graveyard of tall ships, is close to Minimoy).
We were fortunate because we made a catch of 68 knots within which there were five red knots with geolocators. Our joy had to be short-lived because we had to accomplish the many jobs involved in processing our catch, banding, measuring, taking feather samples, attaching geolocators, all within daylight. It took us three hours, and in that time the sea grew angry. As the men who go out to sea say, the winds freshened from the south and the sea had grown a blanket of white with ocean-like breakers hitting the beach. We were 10 miles from the dock and sheltered water. 
Stephanie Koch and Michelle Avis on North Beach Island in calmer days.
Stephanie Koch’s biological team are all trained seamen. Matt Boarmann – is the designated boat captain, but Stephanie, Kate Iaquinto (the refuge Biologist) and Michele Avis (the biological technician) all run the very-seaworthy Parker 24, 22 and 18 in the difficult waters of Monomoy with loads of up to 6 people and their equipment. On this day they needed to bring the boats in from their anchorage a few hundred yards off the beach, fearsomely known to sailors as a “lee shore”. Lee shores are a deadly combination of shallow waters buffeted by onshore winds – this creates tall waves that simultaneously lift up boats, pushing them against the shore while pounding them against the bottom. For sailboats, a lee shore often spells doom, because a sailboat can’t make enough movement against the wing blowing them ashore. Matt, Michelle and Stephanie had to intentionally bring the Parker 22 and 18, stern first, into the shallow water, anchor, and let out line to allow the crew to load equipment and climb aboard.
Eleven people started loading equipment, wading hip deep in the breaking surf and moving in behind the boats that acted as shields against breaking waves. The boats rocked up and down wildly as each wave passed. After great effort, the boats were loaded, and with 9 lives at stake, Matt and Stephanie inched their boats through the tumult, weaving in the small channels that snaked between the many shoals. Matt and Stephanie navigated the shoals expertly, and within an hour we were high and dry.
I describe this because there’s is a lot of politically-oriented bashing of our state and federal government employees these days as part of the public’s distrust of government. But sometimes we should recognize that many government people risk their lives for the sake of their jobs, and just as important, they take responsibility for the lives of others — not for the “adventure” but to get a job done. Taking this great risk, for the sake of collecting important information, could spell the difference between survival or extinction for some hapless habitat, animals or plants. It’s a difficult, and sometimes dangerous, job that has to be done.
Stephanie and her team are not alone in their work. There are many in the US Fish and Wildlife Service doing dangerous fieldwork to gather data or manage land. They do this for the conservation of our Nation’s natural resources, and they follow a long list of distinguished biologists who have sometimes given their lives in the course of their work. For this, the US Fish and Wildlife Service biologists deserve our praise.
