We’ve all heard that a picture says a thousand words. One picture from college captures my feelings when I learned the truth about Wildlife Biology, and that one picture explains my life thus far.

When I started college, I was pursuing a degree in Wildlife Biology. After one year of courses, the idea still sounded reasonable. My thought was to have a job that would keep me outdoors as much as possible. However, a couple courses during my sophomore year helped shatter the illusion of spending my life outdoors as a Wildlife Biologist.

In spring 2009 I faced the rigors of BIOL317: Comparative Anatomy of Vertebrates, and WLF201: Wildlife Management Principles. Among the many wildlife students I’d been joining in classes for the last year and a half were my friends Tim and Dave. Actually, I didn’t really know Dave, but Tim formed us into a sort of trio. Although the wildlife program at UAF is well respected and obviously in a great location, most wildlife classes are fewer than 30 students in size. As we progressed through classes together, we became our own little community.

Dr. Erich Follmann taught Comparative Anatomy, one of just a couple Biology courses that included 2 lab sessions per week. The labs were optional but entirely necessary, as that’s where we dissected a perch, a pigeon, and a cat. Throughout the semester we learned the insides of these animals as we learned just how many layers of fascia (as an expletive: Fascia!!) could lie between us and the particular feature for which we were searching. We memorized bones, muscles, blood vessels, the nervous system, the urinary system, the reproductive system, the digestive tract, and more.

Not only did Tim and I need to recognize the components in our study specimens, but also in any other lab partners’ dead animals. I can’t tell you how many hours Tim, Dave, and I spent agonizingly studying for lab exams. Actually Dave typically headed out early to watch some pre-season MLB coverage. I haven’t really used any of that anatomical knowledge since; still, those were good times.

Wildlife Management Principles ended up teaching me more about myself than about wildlife. Lectures taught basic models and statistics used for managing wildlife populations, and lab sessions consisted of running basic statistics through a computer program and then interpreting what the data meant. Typically that meant we’d sit at computers and keep some internet tab open to hold our attention while the TA worked on figuring out a glitch or explained what we were accomplishing. In other words, we were learning how to be indoor biologists, which is essentially what one becomes after passing through the echelons of field tech and graduate student.

In the world of wildlife lessons there lies one critical point that gets hushed. Unless one plans on being a permanent field technician, the job boils down to 80% office work and 20% fieldwork.

Umm, come again?

Shortly after initially realizing this ugly truth, there was one day when Tim and I saw Dr. Follmann riding the campus shuttle. “There’s more to Wildlife Biology than statistics and reports, right?” Tim asked.

The kind Dr. Follmann just smiled, softly chuckled, and shook his head to indicate something along the lines of “No, sorry to kill your dreams.”

From that time forward I started to seriously wonder if I really wanted a degree that would ultimately land me analyzing numbers at a computer. My advisor and professors began telling me that I probably didn’t actually want a Wildlife Biology degree. Classes seemed less about wildlife and more about computer models and managing people. I wanted jobs in far-off places with limited access, unique topography, and animals in-hand.

Tim and Dave were also of the same mindset, and that semester became the separation point. Dave was already transferring to the U of Alaska Southeast in Juneau, where he was planning on taking Kayaking as a Recreation course. While we’d be waiting on the computers to tell us what we were learning, Dave enjoyed torturing me by making paddling gestures to remind me he would soon be escaping from wildlife statistics. He also enjoyed weekly pre-season Minnesota Twins coverage during those labs. Tim proved to be the most stubborn of us 3, as he graduated from UAF with a Wildlife Biology degree. Dave ended up studying, living with, and writing about whales and his adventures.

My idea of an interdisciplinary degree was probably hatched during this semester. I recognized the disconnect between the exciting title “Wildlife Biologist” and reality. While I respect data, I acknowledged I’d rather collect it than analyze it. Taking Wildlife courses, along with Natural Resource Management and Photojournalism courses, to create a Nature Photojournalism degree sounded much more appealing. While I happened to choose study subjects that pay nothing (wildlife fieldwork) and cost a lot of money (photography), I’m absolutely content being a wildlife field technician.

Honestly, it’s not at all about the money. It’s about the experiences, which is why I’ll likely never have much money in life. (But I do have a scar from an endangered species.) The perk of remote fieldwork is that I don’t spend money for months and when I do return to civilization, I can check out my bank account and go, “Oh hey, they paid me to have fun! How wonderful!”

Even if it’s raining – or perhaps especially? – I’ll laugh when out in the field. I can’t envision doing that while sitting at a computer.

Once this last summer at Tutakoke I was racing some awfully dark storm clouds before a short boat ride back to camp. As I maintained my power stance through vision-limiting rain, I got drenched on that short jaunt. Then I awkwardly sprinted through the rain and wind to visit our neighboring camp. Just because.

I’d say I won the race.