part two: May 19 - Pine Ridge Research Center
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Samantha Jorgensen was on her way back to the mountain and to her remote cabin where she was conducting observations of the Desert Tawny Owl. The small, sandy-colored raptor had been commonly known to be a desert-dwelling species, but in the last six to eight years numerous sightings had indicated that these little owls had shifted to a new habitat in some forested areas.
Many species had perished since the mid to late 2000s due to changing habitats brought about by climate change. The battle to bring all of humanity around to reduce their carbon footprint had almost not happened soon enough to make a difference. The political arena sparred back and forth—one side agonizingly trying to explain dataset after dataset exhibiting the effects of man-made carbon pollution while the carbon-polluting industrialists expounded their beliefs that man was too insignificant to affect an entire planet’s environment. Meanwhile, massive die-out events continued to occur planet-wide, and global warming had increased to nearly non-reversible levels. Finally, citizens worldwide stood together to vote for science-based political groups who were able to take control of government arenas in enough countries to push through key legislation to change the world’s energy dependency from fossil fuels to renewables.
In 2011 and 2020, catastrophic events had shut down worldwide airline travel. The data collected during these two major events had indeed illustrated that man-made pollution did affect our planet’s atmosphere. The measurable data recorded during these two shutdowns of the airline industry clearly demonstrated that not only did humankind pollute our planet, but we could clean up our mess. Humans could affect the global climate for good or bad. This undeniable validation drove the world’s science-minded population to stand up and push for worldwide change.
Sam had focused her research on the study of habitat alteration and the effects these changes had on an animal’s ability to survive as worldwide climates continued to settle. The ability of any species to successfully move into a new habitat provided a rare opportunity to research the resiliency of that species’s phenotypic plasticity.
The North American polar bear had not successfully adapted to the lost polar ice packs in the Arctic and was now nearly extinct. There were some hybridized polar-grizzly bears sprinkled around northern Canada, but very few of the purebred North American polar bears remained alive in the wild. There was discussion of introducing some Siberian Polar Bears to the Canadian northern coast now that ice packs were starting to return from the pre-climate change cascade cycle. But zoologists were waiting for the latest population counts of the native polar bears before introducing their cousin species, in the hope that the few remaining bears in the wild and in zoos could successfully repopulate on their own.
Two years ago, Sam had returned to her alma mater from leading her first successful research project connecting radical species habitat shifts to the continuous fluctuations of global climate change. The project had her posted to a remote location in Northern Africa, where the Sahara was undergoing a climate change of a magnitude not seen in tens of thousands of years. As increased seasonal rain cycles were occurring in that vast desert, the resulting savanna habitat was encroaching further into what had been an arid region. Native desert species were faced with three options: adapt to the new habitat, migrate with the receding desert, or go extinct. Sam’s research supported the belief that successful habitat change was, as feared, a very rare occurrence.
The apparent successful habitat change of the Desert Tawny Owl provided one more source of data on species adaptation. Not since Darwin’s original research on evolution had so many varied opportunities to study ongoing evolutionary processes been available to field scientists. The rapid rate of climate change had affected many habitats worldwide, resulting in many species struggling to adapt. Several species mutations had been recorded, resulting in a new adaptation of those animals. Unfortunately, for every animal with genetic mutations that allowed that species to adapt, four other animal species had gone extinct. The Desert Tawny Owl’s adaptation was that the little owl had adapted new hunting methods for its food in a new environment.
Sam made her monthly trip into Boston early that morning to present her findings to the head of the biology department at UMass Environmental Studies Extension and then to the director of finance for scientific grants at Valtech International Conglomerate, where she had received an extension of her grant to continue her research of this new adaptation.
She had presented her first proposal last year for a grant to study the small owls and had been directed to the desk of Michael Jones, where her grant had been approved over dinner. Within a few months and multiple dinners, their relationship had escalated. She had felt uncomfortable about romancing with the agent responsible for managing her grant, but in all honesty, he was only a go-between.
But the relationship, in her opinion, had failed to thrive. Her research kept her on-site while Mike was in his office. He repeatedly nagged her about making a second attempt to have a CIR implanted so they could become closer. She had not made a second attempt to get the implants since, during the first attempt, her tissue rejected the implants and the reaction and a corresponding infection had almost killed her. The bottom line was that his lifestyle and hers were polar opposites: he craved the hustle and bustle of the city, and she craved the solitude of her remote research station.
Sam loved her time in the mountains; she reveled in the quiet sounds, the whisper of the wind through the fir and spruce, and the soft dripping of a light drizzle sliding off the leaves and needles of the trees. She was happy to be back at her secluded camp for another month of watching the little family of owls. She hurried to get set into her blind on time. She needed to be in place before the birds began their nightly activity so she could record their behaviors.
It had taken months to find a female that would accept the placement of her cameras near the nest and raise her fledglings in front of one-way glass. Then, just as she was set for the night, Mike would usually signal her on her earpiece to tell her all about his day—the office gossip, who-did-what-to-who, even his strategic actions that he believed would move him up the ladder very soon. She could only listen during her watch, and he knew he had a captive audience. However, due to her lack of verbal input and his love of hearing his own voice, he deluded himself into believing that she was enthralled. She quickly found she could care less about his manipulations at work or the office gossip and thought if she let him talk himself out, he would start to take interest in her work. This was not the case, though. Whenever she had the chance to turn the topic to her interests, he would quickly negate the validity of her opinions as superficial and navigate the conversation back to his world.
Sam had decided to break off this relationship. She had always found that the few men she had had short relationships with were too self-centered and time-consuming. Their constant need to be the center of her universe was the reason she had ended each relationship. Sam was a quiet, reclusive personality, and men mistook her quiet observational listening as a signal of complete interest in their petty shit. The truth was, she could care less what made their world go round. She wondered at that last thought, asking herself—was it Mike who was selfish for his overwhelming sharing of his life and ideas, or was she the one who was selfish for wanting to be left alone?
Sam finally cut off her Bluetooth. She breathed a sigh of relief and settled in for another long night of observing the little owl family and recording data. Sam sighed; tomorrow she’d break this off.
Hours later at dawn, Sam stiffly, slowly, and very quietly backed out of the blind. After a night of sitting in the small space, the mornings were always a challenge, and the cold didn’t help. Thank goodness it was spring and the mornings were warming up.
She had to wait until the little parent owls, Cleo and Caesar, settled down into their daytime routine before even considering trying to move. It had taken too many days of sneaking around to set up this blind to collect the data she felt sure would prove her hypothesis. The little owls were very elusive creatures, and this had been her fifth attempt to set up a blind to successfully get the video equipment placed without scaring off the research subjects. With most owls, the first egg laid was the first to hatch and the first to start growing. Zeus was the first to hatch and the biggest owlet; next was Athena, and last was Perseus. She wasn’t totally sure if the gender matched the names yet, but some adjustments could be made later.
Her earpiece had not vibrated yet this morning, thank goodness. She wondered if Mike was pouting about her decision to take some time away from their relationship. He had argued that the whole point of her getting a CIR was to improve their communication so their relationship could grow. But she already found the partial link to him a strain; she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be linked so he could have constant access to her head. She was used to being alone, but more than that, she liked being alone. He could not understand her need to be isolated and quiet for prolonged periods. The rest of the world had become more and more dependent on their constant link to the Internet and their mind-to-mind connections with their friends and family.
She guessed the old adage was true: you don’t miss what you’ve never had. It was not that she was antisocial, but she found her quiet time regenerated her inner self—or, as her Nez Perce great-grandmother would say, her inner spirit.
She walked back down the needle-cushioned trail to the cabin and, on the way, stopped at the lean-to to give her small horse, Jack, his morning grain and hay. After she spent a few minutes rubbing his ear, right where he liked to be scratched, she checked his water, then went inside to eat and review her data from last night’s observations before she got some well-earned sleep.
