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38. Bird Bums
- Oregon State University Press
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188 38. Bird Bums eee While most young adults with wildlife degrees graduate looking for a steady job, a few of us have set slightly different priorities. Not that we don’t want to work—just the opposite. We seek out temporary positions paying less than minimum wage, with few days off, no vacation, no benefits, dangerous and uncomfortable conditions, grubby living arrangements, and varying isolation. Basically, we do what others don’t want to, in places others can’t go. I didn’t even know this was possible until midway through college, when a friend mentioned something about “bio bums” while we were out birding. “Yeah, man, it’s totally feasible,” he elaborated. “You can go from one seasonal job to the next, picking interesting places to visit. It’s like an endless paid vacation. Great way to see the world. With your birding skills, you could land some pretty awesome gigs.” He glossed over the drawbacks of such an existence—the uncertainty, the financial issues, the rigors of field work, the difficulties with relationships— and concluded, somewhat dramatically, “Few people know what’s out there for someone who can put up with purposeful travel. Especially for bird folks. Among birders, it’s like the birding underground.” The hub of this community is an online job site updated weekly with arcane and far-flung positions for young people interested in biology. Researchers with interesting projects often rely on motivated field techs to help with day-to-day activities. To me, it seemed perfect. People on the ground were having all the fun, anyway. Some of the announcements bordered on the ridiculous. A quick scan of one recent installment found: “Reserve Manager, 189 Bird Bums Mindo, Ecuador. We need a creative person to steward a 50-hectare nature reserve. Provides a cost-of-living stipend, rustic housing, and a horse.” Or: “Bird Banding Technician, Great Duck Island. Will be stationed at a lighthouse-station-turned-field-camp with propane lamps. Food, fuel, and fresh water delivered regularly. Responsible 7 mornings a week. Little, if any, opportunity to make trips to the mainland.” Or: “Research Assistant, Gough Island, Tristan da Cunha, South Atlantic Ocean. Captive management of two bird species and eradication of an invasive plant from steep cliffs. Extensive experience in abseil rope-access techniques, climbing experience, high levels of physical fitness, ability to live and work in a very small team on one of the world’s remotest islands for a prolonged period. 13 months required.” Never mind. I was hooked on the idea. My bird bumming days began in my gap year. I’d worked on a tropical-bird life-history project in Panama, living next to the Panama Canal for four months. That connection led to another field job the following summer in Michigan with a determined crew tracking songbird nests on a plot of land next to the historic Kellogg (of cereal fame) mansion. Next, I discovered Project Puffin, a long-term seabird reintroduction project on several uninhabited islands off the Maine coast. Living for a summer on different islands in tents and an old lighthouse gave me a front-row seat for viewing Atlantic Puffins, those clownish black-and-white seabirds with multicolored beaks that cavort like flying feathered footballs. The islands swarmed with Hitchcockian clouds of terns, Razorbills, cormorants, and other iconic seabirds. Best of all, the islands were strictly off limits to the public. We had it to ourselves. Later that year, I found myself basking on a beach in the Galápagos Islands, nine hundred kilometers west of Ecuador’s Pacific coastline. For three months, living with a host family who spoke no English, I attended classes on marine biology [44.192.247.144] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 11:37 GMT) 190 Noah Strycker and received university credit. Ecology courses were held in a former resort whenever classes weren’t on a beach or in a boat. The wildlife of the Galápagos, as advertised, was in-your-face: marine iguanas, sea lions, tropical fish, and, of course, the birds—Darwin’s famous finches, tropicbirds with ridiculous tail streamers, stately albatrosses. Lava Herons practically had to be kicked out of the path during my commute to class. Here, I could be a student and a bird bum at the same time. After finishing out the tennis season and my junior year in Oregon, my restless feet headed for a summer study abroad program in Fiji and Australia that featured skydiving and...