Copper River Record November 8, 2018 By Robin Mayo Albert Einstein once said “Play is the highest form of research.” Kids of all ages desperately need free-form outdoor play to develop their creativity, problem solving, self reliance, coordination, and many other essential skills. With this in mind, WISE is planning to develop a “Pop-Up Natural Playground” for Copper Valley youth. I first saw this type of playground at a Children and Nature Network Conference in Vancouver BC in 2017. A large area of a waterfront park had been roped off and filled with a wide variety of materials including bales of straw, a large pile of soil, logs and sticks of all sizes and shapes, rope, burlap, and lumber. There was no formal instruction and very few rules, but kids knew exactly what to do. Every time I walked by the area was full of kids creating forts, making their own play structures, or digging industriously in the dirt. At the end of the week they raked up the mess and packed up the materials to donate to a local school. This type of play has become increasingly rare, and both research and common sense indicate that it is valuable for kids, not just as a welcome break from an over-structured world, but an essential ingredient for developing brains. It is a chance to try out ideas, make mistakes, and figure out how the world works. It also happens to be a ton of fun. WISE is working on planning and funding for a project we are calling the “Pop-Up Natural Playground.” We will collect materials and come up with procedures for setting up, supervising, and dismantling temporary natural playgrounds at local schools and public events. The playgrounds will be roped off areas stocked with natural materials to encourage free-form play, which can be set up for an afternoon, or for several weeks. WISE volunteers will supervise, making sure the play is safe and inclusive. Afterwards, we will pack the materials into our trailer, ready for the next adventure. One of the keys of this type of playground is that it is kid-directed, with minimal leadership or interference from the adults present. In the reading I’ve been doing, one of the challenges is encouraging parents and other adults to step back and let the kids do what they want. Perhaps we’ll have to designate adult times when the more mature “kids” in our communities can also have a go at building forts! On “Giving Tuesday,” (November 27th) WISE will launch a crowdfunding campaign to help raise funds for this fun new program. We will also be looking for donations of materials such as bales of straw, cable spools, rope, and logs to stock our pop-up playground. This spring we will be recruiting and training volunteers to help make our “Pop-Up Natural Playground” a reality in all the communities of the Copper River Basin. And once it is up and running, we will be looking for events where we can share the playground. If you are interested in getting involved, please call the WISE office, or email me at robin@wise-edu.org. This temporary playground in Vancouver BC was the inspiration for WISE’s new Pop-Up Natural Playground. Photo courtesy of Bienenstock Natural Playgrounds.
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Copper River Record November 1, 2018 By Robin Mayo Lampreys were the topic of the first WISE Science Lecture of the season, held October 19th at the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park Auditorium. Our speaker was Andres Lopez, of UAF Museum of the North. 29 people attended, with a wide variety of ages, communities, and backgrounds represented. To begin, Dr. Lopez answered the question of exactly what is a lamprey, specifically how it is related to eels. Although he must be asked this question very often, he answered it with grace and humor, by showing the evolutionary track of both creatures. It turns out that eels and lampreys are not even distant cousins, in fact eels are more closely related to humans than to lampreys, as people and eels both have mineralized hard skeletons, while lamprey are cartilaginous, lacking jaws and several other accoutrements we take for granted. Most of Dr. Lopez’ research has been on Arctic lamprey (Lethenteron camtschaticum) which are found throughout northern, central and western Alaska, and even the Susitna River drainage. Here in the Copper River watershed we have Pacific lampreys (Entosphenus tridentatus) which are larger. Worldwide, there are about 40 living species of lamprey, occupying almost exclusively far northern and southern latitudes. Some are freshwater, some marine, and some anadromous. Over and over during this lecture, I found my conceptions about some basic facts of life challenged. For instance, it was long thought that there were two species of lamprey occupying overlapping habitat, Arctic lamprey and Alaska Brook Lamprey (Lethenteron alaskense.) Through genetic analysis of diverse populations, Dr. Lopez and his colleagues have proven that they are actually one species, despite their quite different habits and appearance. Here is when it gets a little weird. In their larval stage, lamprey are called ammocoetes (pronounces ammo seats) and are blind filter feeders who live in the mud on the bottom of waterways. Locals attending the lecture reported observing ammocoetes in the mud at the Richardson Highway Gulkana River bridge. When they are about 6 inches long, they emerge from the mud and develop eyes and a sucking disc for a mouth. Some then migrate out to sea, following an anadromous pattern much like salmon. But others stay where they are, and never even grow a working adult digestive system. They live off their stored nutrients for several months before spawning. Both life strategies are semelparous, meaning that like salmon they spawn once then die. For many Copper Basin residents, our experience with lampreys involve harvesting salmon with round scars from a lamprey, or even finding live lampreys in fish wheels. We were entertained before the lecture by a story from Mike about pulling a lamprey out of the fish wheel live well, and having it try to latch on to him. Because of this, I’ve always thought of them as parasitic, living off other creatures without killing them. But analysis of the stomach contents of seagoing lampreys showed that a small fish called a Capelin is one of their most frequent prey. The lampreys had ingested large chunks of flesh, not just blood, indicating that they are also predatory, and may scavenge for food. For Alaska natives on the lower Yukon, lampreys are an important subsistence food. When the lampreys are due to migrate in the fall, they cut a hole in the ice and keep watch. When the migration starts, it comes in large enough numbers to sometimes even lift the ice. Villagers then pull out the lampreys with hooks, freezing them on the ice. I’ve seen a lamprey flung up onto the beach make its way back to the water in a sidewinding motion, so I’d love to know how they keep them from slithering back into the river. The state of Alaska has recently established a commercial fishery for lamprey with a 40,000 pound limit, as they are considered a delicacy in some cultures. However, there is almost no real data on the size of the population, a gap that it seems they ought to get a handle on before going encouraging large harvests. This lecture was a fascinating reminder of how little we know about the natural world, especially the aquatic world. Dr. Lopez did a great job of answering many of my questions, but the fascinating information he shared has caused many more questions to bubble up. There is much more to tell, but I’ll close with advice from Dr. Lopez to google “hagfish” or “slimefish.” This is the lamprey group’s closest living relative, with a defense mechanism that is truly bizarre! Harvest of lamprey on the lower Yukon River. Photo Courtesty of Kwik’pak Fisheries
Copper River Record October 4, 2018
By Robin Mayo Along the western end of the Denali Highway, from Paxson to Tangle Lakes, there are dozens of places to pull off the road. Some are real pullouts, others just wide shoulders, or places where the ditch is shallow enough to make good parking. And in early September, it seems nearly every one holds a vehicle or two. This time of year, chances are good the occupants are either hunters or berry pickers. It’s usually pretty easy to tell which is which, although occasionally you can be surprised when a well-armed team in camo shows up to claim a Subaru. My Mom and I spent several days roaming the area recently, filling our buckets with Blueberries. A gentleman in the campground asked us how long we’d been picking berries together. Or he may have been asking how long we have been coming to Tangle Lakes for a blueberry pilgrimage, but nonetheless I blurted out “53 years” to his surprise. But it is true, I have no doubt that the first Autumn of my life I was bundled in a backpack and taken berry picking. Soon I had my own berry bucket, a tin can painted dusky blue, with a cord to go around my neck. It wasn’t very big, and I remember occasionally accumulating an inch or two of berries, ready to eat, spill, or possibly even contribute to the family supply in my Mom’s big bucket. We had a few false starts before we found a spot to settle down and really pick. Sometimes the brush is much taller than it looks, or the ground turns to swamp, or there just aren’t good berries. But we did eventually find what we call a “Gobby Spot,” a place where you can just sit down and pick, hardly needing to move. From our spot, we can hear the traffic rumbling by on the Denali Highway. At the end of the Labor Day weekend, much of the traffic is outbound, big rigs hauling swamp buggies and four-wheelers. One of the things I love about berry picking is that once you find a good spot and your fingers get going, your mind is mostly free to wander. I notice that most of the hunting rigs are not displaying antlers, so are probably not taking home any meat for the freezer. Smugly, I reflect that it is hard to get skunked berry picking. Even in a bad year, if you persevere, you will bring home the goods. From that thought I start imagining what it would be like if berry picking were regulated like hunting, with seasons, bag limits, and mind bogglingly complicated regulations. We’d be punching our harvest tickets for each gallon we collected, and planning to stop in at the Department of Fish, Game, and Fruit to have our harvest sealed and tested for size and sugar content. How many of us would it take to over-pick this area? Would they shut down the season if escapement goals were not met? Would the berries we ate while picking count towards our limit? I shake my head to dispel the fantasy, and return to picking. While I daydreamed my bucket has been filling steadily, and it is time to make a trip to the car for a fresh container. This is the secret of successful wild harvesting: the progress can be so slow and incremental, if you pay too much attention to it you will get discouraged. Instead, let your mind wander and stubbornly refuse to evaluate your progress, and then be thrilled when the handfuls add up to quarts and gallons. My Mom has some tricks up her sleeve. She has brought small plastic containers, applesauce jars with nice screw-on lids. She is a clean picker, and when she comes across especially good berries she picks them neatly straight into the container, puts on the lid and they are ready for the freezer. Apparently this skill is not hereditary, I am far too messy a berry picker to get away with such a stunt. Instead, I will spend several hours once I get home, rolling the berries down a cookie sheet covered with a tea towel. The leaves, twigs, and bits of tundra will be left behind, and I will fill ziplocks with nice clean berries ready to freeze. I’m not a jam eater, so I freeze them whole, ready to go into smoothies, muffins, and pancakes. My mind is wandering again, this time to blueberry pancakes. I wish I’d brought a frying pan so we could make some in the morning. We’d mix the batter and pour out the pancakes without the berries, then gently sprinkle them on the raw side of the pancake as it starts to cook on the griddle. This works with frozen berries too, and is so much better than trying to mix them into the batter. After three days of such musings, all our containers are full, and nightly frosts have turned the berries soft. The seat and knees of my pants are purple and stiff, and my tongue and teeth may be permanently stained. The berries will join the salmon and vegetables in the freezer, each bag carrying the memory of bright autumn tundra, and the taste of sunshine. Copper River Record October 25, 2018 By Robin Mayo What cats are actually good for is a debatable topic. They provide warm and fuzzy, if somewhat aloof companionship, rodent control, and entertainment. Both my cats are black, so they aren’t even very good at posing for pictures, most photos end up looking like a cat-shaped void in the fabric of the universe. So to earn their kibble my cats have taken on the responsibility as guardians of my integrity, keeping me honest and looking out for falsehoods. If you’ve ever come on a WISE hike, you may know that one of my pet peeves is inaccurate names for our local flora and fauna. I cringe a little every time I hear a reference to pine trees, since our evergreens are spruces. When someone refers to mice, I often correct them, saying that most of our tiny rodents are actually voles. And I try to be polite when someone refers to bunnies or rabbits, as our native lagomorphs are Snowshoe Hares. My cats have decided to school me on the mouse issue. Both cats are avid vole hunters. Redbacked voles are those fuzzy little oblongs we often see scurrying around, characterized by short legs, stubby tail, and you guessed it, a decidedly reddish back. Thankfully my cats do not present me with gifts of dead rodents, but I do occasionally find remains on the porch or front yard that tell me what they are catching. There are a lot of voles, and occasionally a shrew. But several times this summer I found distinctively long tailed, big footed remains that can only be a meadow jumping mouse. Curious, I did some reading, and it turns out they are not uncommon in this area. Like flying squirrels, their solitary and nocturnal habits keep them secret much of the time. Meadow jumping mouse (Zapus hudsonius) can be found over much of North America, including Alaska. They prefer damp, relatively open habitat to dense forests. Unlike voles, meadow jumping mice hibernate, which may partially explain why we see less of them—they are unlikely to move into our houses for the winter. They are about 5 inches long, more than half of which is their very long tail. The other very distinctive trait is large, kangaroo-like hind feet, over an inch long. Between the tail and the feet, there is no way you can confuse a jumping mouse and a vole if you get a good look. The most remarkable thing about jumping mice is, of course, the jumping. Normally they hop along in steps of one to five inches, but they can jump up to 3 feet when alarmed. They are diggers who prefer to live underground, and are mostly nocturnal, although it seems like in Alaska they must compromise and feed during the daylight or they would never get fattened up for winter. They prefer seeds, but are omnivores who will eat almost anything. And of course they are an important prey species for hawks, owls, foxes, ermines, and other predators. So, I stand corrected on the mice! Next my cats moved on to the hare issue, and proceeded to make friends with a very large black rabbit which hangs around in our neighborhood. He lounges with them on the porch sometimes, reminding me that we do have rabbits, although they are not indigenous to the area. Which leaves Pine trees. I’m going to stay on my high horse for this one, but I wouldn’t be surprised at all if the cats bring home some evidence of a lodgepole pine alive and well in the neighborhood. Forestry used to give out seedlings at the fair, and they can thrive in the right spot. We are going to have to sit down as a family and have a serious talk about the difference between native, domestic, and invasive species. But I do appreciate the subtle ways they have chosen to manifest their superior intelligence. Meadow jumping mouse (Zapus hudsonius) photo courtesy of Animaltown.com
Copper River Record, September 20, 2018 By Robin Mayo In my neighborhood, this summer will go down as “The Summer of the Bear,” or perhaps “The Summer of the Bears.” We were kept on our toes all season by random but obviously related episodes of vandalism in the several-mile wide area around mile 90 Richardson Highway. The description of the perpetrator varied somewhat in size, color, and species, but the pattern was similar. A bear that was bold but wary, that could be scared away but returned soon. It showed up on decks and porches, snagged random tidbits and knocked over garbage cans. Pretty routine stuff. Other areas of the Copper Basin experienced similar situations. In Gakona, a surge in problem bears is attributed by some residents to better fencing at the landfill. Out the Edgerton, bears raided chicken coops and gave people the scare of their lives during late-night outhouse visits. We knew we had a problem on our hands when it started getting into sheds, popping off doors or even tearing out walls. And it was rewarded for this new trick with dog food and other goodies. Next came freezers, the ultimate treat for a lazy omnivore on a hot day. A bear tore into an army trailer trying to get a squirrel, and was chased off three times before it stayed away. Several people took shots and there were some tense confrontations, but nothing serious. One of the most disquieting things was a sense that it we were being watched. A neighbor left for the Post Office, returning an hour later in the middle of the afternoon to toppled garbage cans. At this point you are probably shaking your head, and listing all the easily avoided mistakes that created this problem. Several years ago WISE had a Americorps volunteer who had worked at Glacier National Park in Montana. Glacier has a lot of grizzlies and humans in a relatively constricted area, and a history of negative bear-human interactions. Jamie was horrified at most Alaskans’ generally casual attitude towards bear safety: we store garbage outdoors, eschew bear-proof containers when camping, and practice sloppy camp hygiene. I reassured her that our bears generally prefer to avoid civilization, and there are plenty of places to get away from humans and do the wild thing. Except when they don’t. In retrospect, if everyone in the neighborhood had followed the basic guidelines for bear-country, we would never have had a problem. But Alaskans are almost universally lax on these things. No one event or household created this nuisance bear, but we all contributed. And as you can imagine, it did not end well. We say it so often it is almost a cliché—In the end, it is the bear who pays the ultimate price. Over Labor Day weekend, he ripped the door off of a shed and made off with two 50-pound bags of dog food. A week later at the same house, two sheep hindquarters hung high under a porch roof disappeared. As anyone who has ever done the hard work of hunting, harvesting, and hauling out a Dall sheep in anticipation of the delicious meat can imagine, this was the final insult. For Mr. Bear, it was his last supper. The next night, when the bear came back looking for more goodies, he was shot in the spine. It was a mature boar grizzly, rolling in fat from his easy summer. Now the neighborhood is breathing a sigh of relief, but we shall soon find out if this was the single perpetrator, or if other bears are still roaming the area looking for trouble. Whose fault is all this? No one in particular, but all of us had a part to play. At the first sign of trouble we should have moved our garbage cans, dog food, and freezers to more secure locations. Some of us did, but the trouble is that it takes everyone cleaning up their act to truly clean up the neighborhood. As is often the case with danger, I didn’t learn until afterwards how close it was. Exploring the bear’s trails, we discovered a large cache of dog food cans stolen from trash cans, and resting places where he could watch from the thick brush. This was less than 30 yards from a trail I walk nearly every day. This tragic and gory tale does have a warm fuzzy ending. Since I was the one who alerted the neighbor to the bear in his yard, I ended up with the beautiful hide. It is in the freezer, awaiting a trip to the tannery and a final home on the back of my sofa. But I would have much rather left him roaming the wild. 8/27/2018
By Robin Mayo Ask any Rural Alaskan what they are up to, or how they are doing, and the odds are very good this time of year that their answer will include the word “busy.” Especially as the endless sunlight starts to fade into autumn, we wear our busy-ness as a badge of honor, proof that we are keeping up with the pack in the nonstop race that is summer. And really, how could we not be busy? For many of us, this is full-throttle season at work. Resource managers and –ologists are cramming in as much fieldwork as possible, and anyone with a seasonal or tourism-related job is making every minute count. Hikers, paddlers, climbers, bikers, and backpackers are doing their thing. We are also wedging in building projects and visits from friends and relatives. And on top of all this, we are filling our freezers, pantries, and woodsheds with food and fuel for the winter. I don’t know of a household in the Copper River Valley that doesn’t harvest fish, meat, berries, vegetables, or firewood for the winter ahead. Many of us do all five, which is a tall order. On WISE’s Copper Country Discovery Tour, we visit with Princess Tours guests from around the world, and share our lifestyle with them. One of the things that amazes 100% of these people is how much Alaskans are able to subsist from the land. In most developed parts of the world it is uncommon, and we’ve had many people exclaim, as they nibble on a berry or fresh willow leaf, that this is the first time they have eaten something straight out of the wild. How does it feel? Exhilarating, empowering, and even a little dangerous. I had one guest ask me to please stop encouraging her husband to eat things, she was terrified he would inadvertently ingest an insect, apparently a fate worse than death! For others it triggers fond childhood memories of picking berries or canning preserves with an older relative. For me, subsistence is a fierce pleasure, a love song to the land. I run my fingers along the jars of amber smoked salmon and golden sauerkraut in the pantry, feeling like that ambitious ant in Aesop’s fable. Recently I posted a picture of freshly caught Sockeye on Facebook, which not surprisingly touched off a small debate amongst friends, some of whom were feeling deprived of their yearly fish with the early-season closures. One facebooker stated the opinion that subsistence fish should only be shared with family, and that these special seasons should only be available to those who only live in “real” subsistence villages, which she defined as off the road system. As you can imagine, there was a small tsunami of Copper Basin and other Alaskan residents defending our tradition of sharing with all, and our legacy as a place where subsistence is a truly traditional way of life. It was a wonderful affirmation of how these activities not only fill our bellies, but fill our hearts as well. Busy? Overwhelmed, even? Don’t worry, soon enough the long dark will be here, and there will be time to read that book, clean that house, or knit that sock. For now, I’m thoroughly enjoying the headlong rush of summer into fall, and the feeling of urgency to pick those berries, cut that wood, fill that freezer. Welcome to the WISE Blog! For many years, WISE has enjoyed generous column space in our local newspaper, the Copper River Record. The original intent was to share news of WISE programs, but given plenty of space and the very open-minded editorial style of the publication, we have not stayed on topic very well. The late Bruce James, WISE Executive Director from 2009 to 2012, started off sharing his love of wildlife and his wilderness adventures, such as morel hunting and blueberry picking. WISE founder and then board president Janelle Eklund took the column in 2013, sharing her knowledge of plants, journals of diverse travels, and many other topics.
I started chiming in with columns somewhere in there, starting with an armchair hiking series with descriptions of local trails. From there I've branched in a whole lot of directions, enjoying the chance to stretch my writing muscles a little, and the discipline that is encouraged by a weekly deadline. That is not to say I've met every weekly deadline! Matt is a tolerant and generous editor, who always seems to find space when we need it, and fill the blanks with something else when we are too busy or distracted to write. Janelle wants to make her columns into a book someday, so this is the start. Readers complete our circle, and I'm always delighted by the positive feedback that comes from the community. Please let us know what you'd like to hear about, and we will try to oblige! Robin Mayo, Executive Director September 13, 2018 Copper River Record September 6,2018 By Robin Mayo WISE staff and volunteers spent last Saturday up at the High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program (HAARP) facility in Gakona, helping out with their open house. About 300 guests from near and far attended, and it was a fun chance to learn about some of the cutting-edge science that University of Alaska Fairbanks (UAF) is facilitating there. Several locals asked me why WISE was there, and how we are connected with HAARP. The answer goes a long way back, right to the origins of WISE. In 2001, a group of local educators who had been talking about the need for environmental education in the area decided to get together for a meeting and make a plan of action. One of these people was Dr. Daniel Solie, a physics professor at UAF who had worked on Mt. Wrangell as part of a UAF Geophysical Institute research team. At the time HAARP was operated by the US Air Force. Dr. Solie worked as an outreach educator for the facility, going to local schools with hands-on physics experiments. When the meetings led to the formation of a nonprofit to help coordinate and expedite science and environmental education, Dr. Solie volunteered to serve on the Board of Directors. Although he lives in Fairbanks, he served on the WISE board until 2014, helping guide the organization from an idea at a kitchen table to a busy organization with full-time staff. He still serves on the advisory board and is a generous donor. Meanwhile, HAARP was going through some changes as well. The Air Force left the facility, turning over the keys to the University of Alaska Fairbanks Geophysical Institute. UAF was faced with the task of transitioning the facility to a University-run project, and one of the first priorities was making it more available for the public to visit and understand. If you have an instrument called the “Advanced Modular Incoherent Scatter Radar” there is a pretty good chance most of us don’t understand it, and would like to take a closer look. Under the Air Force, HAARP had become the subject of a wide range of conspiracy theories. Armed with open minds, an eagerness to share the truth, and a sense of humor, UAF has held an open house every year, giving a chance to see the generators, control room, antennae array, and other facilities first hand. They have even designed a fun logo giving the facility the nickname “area 49,” which they print on t-shirts and shotglasses. Adding a nice dash of serendipity, the Public Information Officer at the Geophysical Institute just happens to be an old friend of mine from Fairbanks, Sue Mitchell. In the 1970s we were riding our ponies in the Boreal Arboretum just behind the Geophysical Institute. So when they were looking for help in connecting with local resources for the first UAF HAARP Open House in 2016, Sue called WISE. We help with publicity and scheduling, suggest local resources to help with event logistics, and generally be there to help our partner with this big event. Do I understand all the science that is going on at the facility just northeast of Gakona? No, not even close. My brain is not nearly big enough or stretchy enough to wrap itself around those cool feats of atmospheric physics and advanced electrical engineering. But I relish visiting the array and attending lectures by HAARP scientists, because their passion and commitment to a science which cannot even be seen is an inspiration. When asked about the conspiracy theories, I like to repeat the answer given by Dr. Christopher Fallen at a talk on HAARP several years ago. He said that he couldn’t prove that they were NOT doing something, science just doesn’t work that way. What we can do is show and tell everything they are doing, and help people understand the real science that happens at this unique facility. For more information on HAARP, I recommend the Geophysical Institute’s website: www.gi.alaska.edu/haarp. A group from WISE strikes a silly pose after touring the antennae array
Copper River Record August 16, 2018
By Robin Mayo The office is quiet this morning, and full of ghosts. Last week WISE said goodbye to two staff members, Americorps Volunteer Mikaela Dalton, and Environmental Education Intern Matthew Roman. They gave their tremendous talents, energy and enthusiasm to WISE, and will be greatly missed. Their leaving stirred up memories of other WISE staff who have filled this office over the years. Matt, Lyda, Jamie, Kiana, Tim, Tommy….we miss you too! Mikeala Dalton arrived last August, and spent a full year with WISE as an Americorps Service Member. She was part of a program sponsored by RurAL CAP, a statewide profit which focuses od improving the quality of life for rural Alaskan residents. The Resilient Alaska Youth program sends Americorps volunteers all over the state to work with our most valuable resource, our youth. Mikaela graduated from University of Vermont with a degree in Global Studies. With experience in Outdoor Education as both participant and instructor, she was the perfect person to get our new Outdoor Wilderness Leadership Skills (OWLS) program up and running. “I grew up loving the feeling of awe; a reverence and wonder for the world around us. That feeling when you’re alone in a tall woods, or on top of a mountain you struggled to climb…It’s that feeling that sends shivers down your spine, makes your hair stand on end, and gives you goosebumps.” Mikaela Dalton As well as writing the curriculum for OWLS, Mikaela helped plan and implement WISE programs old and new during her year. Since her marching orders included spending as much time with youth as possible, she was able to teach snowshoeing at Kluti-Kaahs spring break program, camp out for a week at Chosen Frozen, and hang out with the preschoolers at Copper River Native Association. Whenever possible she put on her favorite costume, a fuzzy fox onesie, and used her creativity for skits and engaging hands-on lessons. Mikaela’s greatest accomplishment by far was developing the OWLS program. Starting with brainstorming, a detailed logic model, presenting a proposal to the School District curriculum committee, and capturing a full set of lesson plans, this new program simply would not have happened without her talent and commitment. Matt Roman was with us for just 10 weeks, but we definitely filled those weeks! Florida is home to Matt, and he is a student at Columbia University in Manhattan, so taking up residence in the rustic cabin at WISE for the summer was definitely a change of pace. Matt is a natural teacher and full of enthusiasm, a great fit for jumping into a myriad of programs. He took on a wide variety of tasks, from maintaining the van to giving WISE’s digital presence some much needed attention, to holding the hands of our youngest hikers as they explored. “The past few months have been much more than some internship I can sum up on a resume….Life is just different out here, the sense of community is one of the strongest I’ve ever felt…We all may have a clear idea of the beauty of the natural world, what I’ve come to realize is that it can really change the way we think and feel. It can make us more aware, more connected with ourselves and others, and on the whole more complete.” Matthew Roman Most importantly, both Mikaela and Matt embraced their roles as members of the WISE and Copper Valley communities. They volunteered their time to work on the new bridge at Wellwood Nature Preserve, and took advantage of many opportunities to be a part of daily life here. How will WISE fill the gaping holes left by these two? After the summer season is done, we will assess our finances and decide what help is needed for the upcoming year. Chances are very good that we will once again host an Americorps Volunteer, we’ve had some amazing people through this program, and really like to be a part of RurAL CAP’s Resilient Alaska Youth network. And hopefully we will host another intern next summer. As programs like OWLS and Copper River Stewardship Program nurture local teens in outdoor and leadership skills, it is our hope that Copper Valley youth will fill these roles. In the meantime, I’m getting used to the empty desks, and reminding myself to check the oil! Copper River Record August 9, 2018 By Janelle Eklund It was a cloudy drizzly rainy kind of day but that didn’t deter people spreading their wings to flock to Wrangell St. Elias National Park and Preserve’s (WRST) Wings Over the Wrangells. Four learning stations gave participants the opportunity to experience firsthand the lives of birds. The picking apart of owl pellets to discover all kinds of little bones and skulls was a major attractant for the young crowd and some oldsters at the Wrangell Institute for Science and Environment (WISE) station. Equipped with gloves, tweezer, a pointed stick, and a hand lens there was some very meticulous picking apart and serious discovery going on. The excitement of finding a small jaw with tiny teeth, or a whole intact skull was thrilling to watch. A sheet of paper identifying the various bones was taped next to each person so as they picked the bones out of the pellet they could lay them on the correct picture, which was labeled with the type of bone. Parents of the young ones were just as fascinated and worked right along with them digging and probing for bone treasures. Some wanted to take their pellet and/or bones home and continue the joy of finding something new. Contrary to popular belief an owl pellet is not something that comes out of the hind end of the bird. It’s actually regurgitated matter. The owl uses its beak to take apart a vole – like us cutting our meat – and consumes it along with any bones. The meat and soft tissues get digested. The bones don’t and the owl needs to get rid of them, so they are regurgitated and come out in a pellet looking similar to a winter moose dropping, but usually a little bit bigger. Sometimes the bones are pretty intact within the pellet and if one is very careful, as some of the participants were, the whole skull can be extracted from the rest of the pellet. A live Great Gray Owl and Red Tailed Hawk from the Bird Treatment and Learning Center also drew attention where their life style and habits were discussed. These birds had been injured in some way and could not be returned to the wild because they wouldn’t survive. So they become teachers! At another station anyone was also able to make their own bird out of craft materials and/or spruce cones. Everyone seemed to enjoy the afternoon of scientific bird discovery with the new found knowledge giving their own wings a wider span! Thanks to WRST for putting on this enjoyable event. Kids and parents enjoyed discovering what remained of an owl's meals inside the pellets they cough up at the WISE learning station as part of Wings Over the Wrangells at the NPS visitor center. Photo: Courtesy of Janelle Eklund
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Who We AreWISEfriends are several writers connected with Wrangell Institute for Science and Environment, a nonprofit organization located in Alaska's Copper River Valley. Most of these articles originally appeared in our local newspaper, the Copper River Record. Archives
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